Marvel High
by TheVioletMuse
Summary: Tony Stark thinks his senior year at Marvel High is going to be just like every other year. He has his rivalry with Steve Rogers, his on-again/off-again girlfriend, Pepper Potts, and his friends. But when a new girl arrives, Tony's school and social life start to unravel. He thought he knew how this year would go, but that was before he met Natasha Romanoff. High School (AU).
1. Chapter 1

**Everyday Superhero**

"Order! Order!"

Steve Rogers's firm tone followed by the repetitive banging of a gavel jerked Tony Stark from his reverie. It was the first day of senior year and, with that, the first student council meeting. Tony was already regretting running for senior class president.

He didn't mean to win. Not really. He just did it to mess with the All-American Golden Boy™. How was he supposed to know that Rogers was running for student body president instead of senior class president?

Tony sighed. It was going to be a long year.

Looking around the table, Tony noticed that the rest of the class officials were settling down under Rogers's commanding gaze. The class secretary, Pepper Potts, was seated at Rogers's right hand, pen poised to record the meeting. Tony briefly caught her eye, but she quickly turned away, nose in the air. Tony rolled his eyes. Pepper had been his on-again/off-again girlfriend since freshman year and, based on her reaction, he guessed they were off…again.

Sitting next to Pepper was Peter Quill, the junior class president and class clown. Tony didn't much mind running into Quill at parties—the kid was good for a few laughs here and there, but the charm wore thin after a while. Gamora, the junior class vice-president, was seated on the other side of Quill. If school gossip was correct, then Gamora and Quill were about as on/off as Tony was with Pepper. As Tony studied Quill and his tight-lipped companion, he mused on the saying "opposites attract."

The sophomore class president and vice-president were unfamiliar to Tony. The two girls had been freshmen the previous year, so, naturally, they were beneath Tony's notice. If he remembered correctly, their names were Carol Danvers and Maria Rambeau, although he couldn't remember which was which.

As student body president, Rogers sat at the head of the table, while the student body vice-president, Thor Odinson, sat at the opposite end of the table. Thor and Rogers were co-captains on the Marvel High football team and had run in the student elections as running mates. Even at eighteen years old, Thor was a beast of a man, with thick, muscular arms, a chiseled jaw, and shoulder-length blond hair. Tony once called him Point Break, only to find that Thor had no problem being physically aggressive off the field. Now, Tony only used the moniker among friends.

"Stark."

Once again, Steve Rogers's voice intruded upon Tony's intentional tune-out of the meeting.

"Stark!" he yelled again.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Yes, dear?"

Something jabbed Tony's side. He looked over, only to be met with the disapproving stare of his best friend, James "Rhodey" Rhodes.

_Come on, man_, he mouthed silently to Tony, who did his best to look at least somewhat ashamed, if only to appease his friend and maybe to get back in Pepper's good graces. Homecoming was in a month and, if her current facial expression was any indication, he'd have to get his act together if he didn't want to go stag. So, Tony removed his feet from the table and tried to focus.

"As I was saying," Steve forced out through gritted teeth, "since we won't have freshmen class reps until after they hold elections, we have our work cut out for us this month. We have the homecoming pep assembly, the game against Wakanda Prep a.k.a. the Panthers," this got a whoop from Thor, "and, of course, the dance. Funds are low, so each class needs to work out a way to raise money. Understand, Stark?"

"Yes, sir," Tony said in an attempt to be serious, but he couldn't help adding a mock salute.

Rogers clenched his jaw but ignored the insult. "Coulson."

Phil Coulson, class treasure and Steve Rogers's own personal fan-boy/stalker, nearly bounced out of his seat when his idol said his name. "Yes sir, I mean, yes…Steve?"

"You're in charge of the treasury, so it's up to you to stay on Stark, Quill, and Danvers. Make sure they pass on whatever their respective classes raise, you got that?"

"Sure thing, Mr. President," Coulson nodded, with an awkward grin. "El presidente," he added, wiggling his eyebrows.

Steve's stiff smile turned sickly. Tony groaned inwardly.

Yes. It was going to be a long year, indeed.

* * *

The moment Tony arrived home, he made a beeline for the workshop. The first day back to school was always taxing—the need to be charming and live up to the expectations of others was exhausting. The Tony Stark he was in public was just a mask that got him from one day to the next, but in the workshop, he could finally be himself.

Not that he was alone. He was rarely alone. So, he wasn't surprised when he opened the door to the workshop to find Bruce already elbows-deep in the robotic engine they'd started building together over summer vacation.

"Hiya, buddy. How's it hangin'?"

Without looking up from the mess of metal before him, Bruce groaned before smirking in that particular way of his—with only half of his mouth, just as he only afforded Tony half of his attention. "I'm not answering that," he replied, before using his mouth to hold a screwdriver, freeing up his other hand.

Tony only chuckled, jaunting across the room to join his science bro.

For a while, they worked together in companionable silence until both of their stomachs were rumbling. Then, a pizza was ordered, tools were put away, and hands were washed. The pizza arrived shortly thereafter, and both boys retreated to the kitchen to enjoy their cheesy meal.

As they ate, they talked about the first day back, their classes—the ones they shared and the ones they didn't—and Tony described, in great detail, the agony of the first student council meeting. He had just finished telling Bruce about the latest hiccup in his relationship with Pepper when his friend's head snapped up.

"Speaking of girls, did you see the new girl?"

Tony dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping the grease from his face and swallowed the mouthful of pizza he'd been chewing, nearly choking in the process.

"New girl? What new girl?" he sputtered. "And since when were you aware that girls even existed?"

Bruce tossed a crumpled-up napkin at Tony, hitting him in the face. "What are you talking about? I dated Betty for, like, most of sophomore and junior year."

Tony sighed dramatically. "Oh my goodness, who even remembers that? And who cares? New girl. Details. Now." He snatched up the crumpled-up napkin and threw it back, but Bruce ducked, and the ball went soaring past his head.

"Red head, _Bette Davis Eyes-_meets Lauren Bacall-meets Lana Turner in _The Postman Always Rings Twice_-kinda vibe."

"So, a teenage femme fatale? Sounds promising. Name?"

"Natasha, I think…" Bruce looked past Tony, squinting as he tried to recollect the new girl's name.

"Na-ta-sha." Tony stressed each syllable, liking how the name rolled off his tongue. He liked it even more when he said the name while envisioning the girl Bruce described. His musings were cut short by a sudden realization.

"Hey! Why didn't you tell me at lunch? You trying to get a head start or something?"

Bruce rolled his eyes. "First of all, I didn't see her before lunch. She was in my Russian lit class, which I have last period. Second…" his face fell slightly, "I highly doubt someone like her would ever look twice at someone like me."

Tony watched as Bruce became overly interested in his half-eaten slice of pizza, picking at it instead of finishing it. He sighed.

"Come on, little buddy. Don't say that. Of course, she would. If I was a girl, I'd be all over that," he said, vaguely waving his hand at Bruce.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

Tony nodded. "Yeah, totally. If I was a girl or gay, pfft, that'd be it. You and me, buddy."

Bruce snorted and finished off his pizza, the ghost of a thought lurking behind his eyes. He grinned slowly. "Really? Gay? Somehow, if you were gay, I don't think I'd be your type."

This time, it was Tony who asked, "oh really?"

Bruce smirked. "I don't know. There's definitely something between you and Rogers."

Tony nearly choked. "Me? And Rogers? Steve Rogers?" His eyes went wide. "You take that back! Take it back! Take it back, now!" He abandoned his pizza and lunged at Bruce, playfully swatting at his friend.

"I mean, you gotta admit, there's definitely some kind of tension there," Bruce continued in-between laughs. "But now I know for sure. There is tension. Sexual tension."

"That's it!" Tony threw his hands up in the air and stalked off towards the workshop.

"Hey, man," Bruce called out after him. "Where ya going? You just had a major, therapeutic breakthrough. We can't stop now."

"If you don't take it back," Tony shouted, still marching towards the workshop, "I'm going to rip that robot apart with my bare hands."

Behind him, he heard a loud _bang!_ followed by a series of small crashes as Bruce was undoubtedly tripping over himself to stop Tony. By the time he caught up, Tony was already in the workshop, waiting for his friend with a wide grin plastered on his face. They spent a few more hours hard at work before calling it a night.

With Tony's parents out of town, yet again, Bruce had an unspoken invitation to stay the night—one that never expired and was always accepted. Instead of sleeping in his bedroom, both Tony and Bruce sprawled out on separate sofas in the living room. Bruce drifted off first and was greeted by dreams of red curls and green eyes. Tony followed closely thereafter, and just as sleep claimed him, he whispered a single word:

_"Natasha_._"_

* * *

**A/N: **Just a heads up, this story is not exclusively from Tony's POV. The story alternates between multiple POVs, and almost all major and minor MCU characters will appear in some capacity. Thank you for reading. Comments are welcomed, appreciated, and encouraged!

***Song Inspiration**: "Everyday Superhero" - Smash Mouth


	2. Chapter 2

**Right Place, Wrong Time**

Tony and Bruce pulled into the school parking lot twenty minutes before the first bell with the sole purpose of catching a glimpse of the new girl. Fifteen minutes had passed, and there was still no sign of her, according to Bruce, at least. Still, Tony kept his features neutral as he scanned the mass of students milling about.

With five minutes left of their precious free time, they were finally joined by Rhodey and then Happy. Tony was not surprised to see Pepper exit the passenger side of Happy's car. The two were neighbors, and Tony was almost sure that his buddy harbored a secret crush for the statuesque strawberry blonde. The suspicion only grew as he watched Happy's gaze follow Pepper's retreating figure until she disappeared amongst the throng of students. When he turned back to them, Happy had a dazed look on his face until he met Tony's eye; at least then, he had the decency to blush.

"Happy," Rhodey said, finally breaking the awkward silence, "you finally gonna try for Pepper now that Tony's gone and messed it up again?"

Happy's mouth opened and closed several times, reminding Tony of a fish.

"Chill, man. Chill. I'm messing with you," Rhodey continued, hands up in mock surrender. "Besides, we all know you can't 'finally try' something you've been trying all along. Ain't that right, Tony?"

"Damn straight, Rhodey," Tony answered, trying his best not to grin. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he spotted a mess of red hair but, on closer inspection, it was only Steve Rogers in a red baseball cap. Bruce followed Tony's gaze and then nudged him in the side, smirking as he did. Tony rolled his eyes and whacked Bruce on the shoulder.

"Hey, man," Rhodey said, interrupting their private, silent joke, "what's up?"

Without a beat, Tony replied, "the sky." He chuckled at the tired joke until he caught sight of Rhodey's trademark, no-nonsense facial expression. "Bruce said something about a new girl. We got here early to see if we could catch her on the way in. You know, before she falls in with the wrong sort," he admitted.

"You mean like Rogers?"

Tony nodded, ignoring Bruce's snort.

Happy was still sputtering and growing increasingly red in the face. Tony was about to tell him to chill when a sleek, black car peeled into the parking lot, zipped past them, and came to a screeching halt in one of the parking stalls reserved for teachers. Immediately, Happy, Rhodey, and Bruce straightened up while Tony maintained his lackadaisical stance.

The car's engine cut off, and Mr. Fury exited the vehicle, the ends of his black sports coat catching the early autumn breeze and flipping out behind him. His gaze instantly landed on their huddled group—Tony in particular.

"Yo! Stark! Don't you have somewhere you're supposed to be?" Mr. Fury shouted.

Tony held out his watch even though there was no way Mr. Fury could see it from that distance. "We still got three minutes, sir," he replied with a cheeky grin.

Mr. Fury looked apathetic as he pursed his lips and furrowed his menacing brow. "Was that backtalk, Stark? Boy, get your butt in that building right now!"

Tony almost shot back with another snarky remark, but Bruce was pulling on his arm, while Rhodey and Happy were already halfway to the school's entrance. He relented to Bruce's pull and followed his friends inside.

With all of the commotion, no one noticed a black Chevy Stingray pull up a few spots down from Tony's car. And no one definitely noticed the redhead who got out.

* * *

Natasha Romanoff had a knack for time. It was an uncanny ability she'd honed over the years, and it served her well.

Like today.

She'd timed her arrival perfectly to avoid the horde of students delaying the inevitable start of their classes by pulling into the parking lot with only a few minutes to spare. In doing so, she was rewarded with a show: her new favorite teacher chewing out some cocky kid and his friends. Though, she had to hand it to the kid. Natasha was not easily intimidated, and even _she_ would think twice about picking a fight with Mr. Fury.

She watched from the safety of her Stingray as the kid's friends escaped the political science teacher's wrath, dragging the troublemaker with them, before exiting her car. Mr. Fury spotted her straight away and greeted her with a silent, curt head nod, which she returned before making a hasty retreat into the building.

Natasha had never attended public school before, and the giant building was a foreign maze to her. She wracked her brain, trying to envision the map she'd studied the night before. She'd almost given up when Clint Barton sidled up beside her, making his presence known before throwing an arm around her shoulder.

"'Sup, Nat."

"Hey, Clint."

"A little bird told me you might be lost."

"Put an arrow in it."

"Sure thing," Clint answered, removing his arm and jogging off down the hall.

Natasha groaned. "Wait!" she called after him.

Clint turned back, waiting for her to catch up.

"I have biochemistry with Dr. Pym in, like, a minute. Help a girl out?"

"Yeah, that's right by me. I have astronomy with Dr. Selvig. It's a shame we didn't sign up for the same science class. It would have been nice to have someone to copy off of. Someone I know is smart, anyway."

As Clint led the way, Natasha's thoughts drifted back to the scene she witnessed only a few moments ago.

"Hey, does the name 'Stark' mean anything to you?"

Clint stopped in his tracks. "Oh boy." He turned and looked at her with a reproachful look on his face.

"What are you doing? The final bell's going to ring any moment now."

He glanced towards an open door a few feet away and shrugged. "We're here."

Natasha's eyes darted from Clint to the door and back again. "Oh. Thanks."

"No problem," he replied, that concerned expression still plastered on.

"Tsk. Well, I'm just going to…" she pointed towards the door.

Clint's gaze followed her gesture before snapping back to her face. "Mhmm. Yup. See you after, I guess."

They continued to watch each other warily as they entered their respective classrooms until they were out of each other's sight.

_That was…odd_, Natasha thought as she found her seat.

The bell rang, and she turned her attention towards Dr. Pym's lecture.

* * *

Bruce jogged clumsily through the hall, dropping papers as we went and nearly falling over in his effort to pick them back up. The bell had rung several minutes before, and he was late. He was never late.

_That's what you get for joining Tony in his stalking game when you should've been dealing with the schedule change. _

Sure, he had a note from the attendance office, so he wouldn't get in trouble. It's not like this was going on his permanent record.

_ But it's Dr. Hank Pym! _The_ Dr. Hank Pym! Renowned biochemist. _

Every minute that passed was a minute he was missing of the genius's instruction. How Marvel High even got someone like Dr. Pym to agree to teach there part-time was beyond Bruce's abilities of comprehension.

Bruce had been vague when telling Tony about exactly which science class he was taking this semester during their conversation the night before. Sure, Dr. Pym was Tony's father's rival, and Tony wasn't exactly his father's number one fan, but Bruce didn't want to risk a random resurgence of familial loyalty that would affect his friendship.

He was so lost in thought that Bruce ran right past his intended location and had to backtrack—a humiliating series of events that he was glad no one was around to witness.

No one he saw, anyway.

Unperturbed by the unseen eyes watching him, Bruce took a moment to gather his wits and enter Dr. Pym's classroom.

* * *

*****Song Inspiration**: **"Right Place, Wrong Time" - Dr. John


	3. Chapter 3

**I've Just Seen a Face**

Before the door even opened, Natasha could feel a hesitant presence lingering in the hallway outside of Dr. Pym's classroom. She kept her eyes trained on the handle, waiting for it to turn. When it finally did, a scruffy young man slipped into the room. Once he was inside, he tried to close the door quietly, promptly dropping nearly everything he was carrying. He tried to catch the cascading papers and books but, instead, the overcorrection caused everything else to fall from his grasp.

By this point, Dr. Pym had ceased his lecture and was watching the young man scramble to gather his fallen belongings and listening to the string of hushed apologies that fell from the boy's lips.

Natasha couldn't help but feel for the poor guy.

When everything had been gathered back up, the tardy student shuffled over to Dr. Pym's podium, handed him a slip of paper, and whispered to him. Dr. Pym nodded, whispered something back, and then turned to scan the room—no doubt looking for an empty seat. Sure enough, his eyes landed on the only vacant seat in the room: the one next to Natasha. The young man looked over to where Dr. Pym was now pointing and locked eyes with her. He looked away swiftly, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose, before making his way to her table.

* * *

Bruce couldn't believe his luck. Of all the classes and all the girls, he ended up in _this _class, sitting next to _this_ girl. If luck was a lady, she was cruel, for this wasn't good luck. Far from it. Good luck would have been Bruce pulling off a Tony-esque strut into the room, moving with purpose, with confidence. At the very least, good luck would have been not pulling a "Banner," as Tony put it. Bruce knew first impressions were important, and he'd just blown it. This was bad luck, hands down, no questions about it.

Now, sitting next to her, Bruce had trouble concentrating on what Dr. Pym was saying. He was obsessed with the spectacle he'd made of himself in front her. His cheeks felt hot; he was sure he was as red as a tomato.

The worse part of the whole fiasco had been the look on her face. For the most part, it was inscrutable; however, the first moment they locked eyes, he swore he saw something akin to pity. He had to look away after that. It was one thing to be invisible to the girls at the school; he was used to it. In fact, he relished it most of the time. Being invisible to the opposite sex was easy when all he had to do was stand in Tony's shadow, which he did, happily. Bruce would rather play the role of The Invisible Man until his limbs learned to play nice and work together.

But she saw him. And she pitied him.  
That was worse than being invisible.

* * *

Natasha was acutely aware of her new lab partner. He smelled like soap and books. And he radiated warmth.

She liked that.

But he wouldn't stop fidgeting with his glasses or the ends of his sleeves, which were just a bit too long for his arms. His shoulders were hunched over slightly, and he seemed to be sinking down, as low as the stool would allow.

She'd never seen anyone so present try to be so invisible.

* * *

Bruce wanted to concentrate on the words coming out of Dr. Pym's mouth, but each syllable was drowned out by the thundering _tick_ of the clock's second hand. Each one seemed to grow louder and slower, simultaneously, until Bruce was sure time had stopped. This would be the class that never ended, with him sitting next to the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen up close, and all he wanted was for a black hole to open and swallow him.

He waited and waited for something to happen, anything at all, anything that would end his torment. The sweet release of death, even. But he was cursed.

Instead of a black hole or a fire drill or a sudden aneurysm to liberate him from this unending torture, Dr. Pym received an email that required an immediate answer. While he addressed the issue, he instructed the class to "talk amongst themselves."

The girl with ruby curls and emerald eyes turned to Bruce, "I'm Natasha," she said, her husky voice soft and low, befitting a film noir star.

Suddenly, Bruce forgot how to breathe.

He sputtered.

He stammered.

He stuttered.

'Til his brain stalled out.

For the life of him, Bruce could not remember his own name. Was it Bob?

He could read nothing in Natasha's features to determine what she might be thinking. Her features were calm, neutral. After a moment, however, her eyes went soft. To anyone else outside their awkward little bubble, nothing changed, but when you've spent your entire life being invisible like Bruce, you see everything.

This time, the softness in her eyes wasn't pity. Bruce couldn't describe it, even with an extensive vocabulary at his disposal, but it gave him the courage he needed to spit out his own name.

"Br-Bruce. Bruce. B-Ba-Banner. Bruce Banner."

The corner of Natasha's mouth curved upwards ever so slightly and, from that moment on, Bruce knew he was hooked.

* * *

Once Bruce got over his initial shyness, Natasha found that he was a sweet, highly-intelligent young man. Sure, he was clumsy and awkward, but that was part of his charm.

Still, there was a part of Natasha warning her there was more to Bruce than what she saw on the surface. It wasn't a screaming, flashing neon-type of warning but rather a slight, persistent nudge at the periphery of her subconscious.

There was something mysterious about him, and Natasha loved a mystery.

She wanted to open him up and explore, figuratively speaking. Natasha poked and prodded, using her words and body language as surgical tools until she found the right vein: science.

Once she got him talking about that, it was as if he forgot about everything else. Watching him speak about it, Natasha speculated, was much like watching a kid open presents on Christmas morning.

She was content to listen, searching for meaning in each of his words and between the lines, but he stopped rather abruptly, going red in the face.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled sheepishly.

Natasha tilted her head to the side. "Why?"

"It's just…I'm just…I mean…you don't want to…this is boring…I'm boring…" he trailed off, looking intently at his hands.

"I wouldn't say that," Natasha said, a soft smile on her face.

Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet hers and smiled in return.

* * *

Inevitably, the bell rang, signaling the end of class. Bruce and Natasha allowed most of their classmates to exit the room before following to avoid the bottle-necking. When they reached the door, Bruce paused, turning to her.

"It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you, too," she replied.

Bruce pursed his lips, trying to figure out exactly how to phrase his next question. Finally, he swallowed past the lump of cowardice stuck in his throat and just spit it out. "If you don't already have plans, a few of my friends all sit together at lunch. I'm sure they'd like to meet you."

Natasha had barely opened her mouth to respond when an arm circled around her shoulder followed by the rest of Clint Barton.

Bruce's stomach dropped.

_No. _

Natasha offered an apologetic smile but did nothing to remove the arm. "I'm sorry, but I'm eating with Clint and his friends. I already promised since I took advantage of the whole 'seniors get to go off-campus' thing yesterday." She looked to Clint, who seemed to be silently challenging Bruce. "I'm sure we could make some room for you, though, right Clint?" She said the last part with an edge to her voice, forcing him to back down.

Clint smirked. "Yeah, sure. We can make room for you and your friends."

Bruce thanked them and watched them leave. He already knew there was no way Clint's friends would make room for his friends, just like he knew that his friends would never want to spend their lunch period sitting with Clint's friends.

Bruce watched them walk down the hall, Clint's arm still around her shoulders, until they disappeared from sight. Dejected, he turned and walked the other way.

* * *

The morning passed slowly for Tony. His first two classes were boring, and he didn't like anyone in them. Then came AP Calculus with Bruce. His little buddy was more solemn than usual and offered no explanation for his mood. Instead, he spent the entire class hunched over his textbook and calculator, scribbling on little pieces of scratch paper, and sulking.

Tony decided to let the poor kid be for now, figuring he might open up later. If he had to wait until the afternoon when they were back in the safety of the workshop, he would. Bruce was a private person, and Tony respected that.

So, instead of bothering Bruce, Tony lost himself in numbers and equations, allowing his mind to wander.

He had yet to catch a glimpse of any girl fitting the description Bruce gave him the night before. He'd spent the previous two classes wondering if Bruce had simply built her up, 'beauty in the eye of the beholder' and all that, but that didn't make sense. If Bruce liked her, he wouldn't want to talk her up in case she piqued Tony's interest.

_No. That wasn't fair._

If Bruce truly liked someone, Tony always backed off. It was such a rare occurrence that backing off was the least Tony could do, and Bruce knew that. He trusted Tony and vice versa.

Unless this girl really was unlike anyone they'd ever met. Unless she really was _that_ different.

_If she was, what would happen then?_

Tony finished the practice questions earlier than everyone else except for Bruce. Still giving Bruce his space, Tony spent the rest of class cultivating theories for his friend's behavior and anticipating his first glimpse of the new girl.

As it turned out, Tony didn't have to wait long. The end of class finally came and, with it, lunch. Together, Tony and Bruce made their way to the cafeteria and their usual table in the far corner. Bruce sat with his back to the wall and his eyes on the door. Tony followed suit, nearly bouncing out of his seat with eager excitement.

They were soon joined by Rhodey and Happy, who also watched the doors to the cafeteria with equal parts amusement and trepidation after being brought up to speed on the reason behind it by Tony.

Finally, _she_ entered.

At first, Tony didn't see her. Instead, he had been sneaking a worried peek at Bruce's face as he had been doing since the beginning of calculus. From the way Bruce's eyes lit up for a fraction of a second before falling fast, Tony knew. He whipped his head around, back to the doors that led into the cafeteria, his eyes desperately scanning for the new girl.

He found her.

Time seemed to slow down to the point of stopping.

Bruce's description of her had not done her justice. Her appearance, maybe. Tony could totally see her fitting in with the femme fatales from the 40s and 50s. But what left Tony completely enthralled was the way she moved. Each step was graceful like a dancer, poised yet purposeful. She carried herself with a confidence rarely seen in teenagers but without seeming cocky as he often did. Knowing little about her, he could only hypothesize that the confidence came from having nothing to prove and no one to impress. It was self-assurance instead of self-obsession.

His eyes remained glued to her, as did the eyes of his companions, watching as she scanned the room. She must not have found what she was looking for but that didn't seem to matter as she was soon distracted by the appearance of a young man Tony immediately identified as Clint Barton.

_No. _

Barton swung an arm around her shoulder.

_No. No._

Barton began leading her towards the opposite corner of the cafeteria.

_No. No. No._

Tony had long put his faith in science and numbers but in that moment, he sent a desperate prayer to anyone or anything listening.

_Please. No. _

But his prayers went unanswered. Clint and the new girl did not alter course.

_No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No._

They arrived at their destination. And Tony watched as Barton introduced the new girl to the one, the only, the utterly abhorrent, All-American Golden Boy ™, Steve Rogers.

_Shit. _

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "I've Just Seen a Face" - The Beatles


	4. Chapter 4

**Somebody That I Used to Know**

**[One Year Earlier]**

"_Get your motor runnin'_

_Head out on the highway_

_Lookin' for adventure_

_And whatever comes our way…"_

Hours after a thrilling victory against their rivals, the Wakanda Prep Panthers, the boys of the Marvel High Avengers were still out celebrating and painting the town red, white, and blue, but it was getting late. Steve ordered his teammates to head home. They still had a long season ahead of them, which meant practice the next day.

"_I like smoke and lightning_

_Heavy metal thunder_

_Racin' with the wind_

_And the feelin' that I'm under…"_

One blue-eyed boy wasn't done celebrating, though. After his teammates left the restaurant, he headed over to the bar. Even though he was only seventeen, this boy was able to charm a couple beers from the bartender. A few beers wouldn't hurt.

"_Like a true nature's child_

_We were born, born to be wild_

_We can climb so high_

_I never wanna die…"_

Armed with the bartender's number, the blue-eyed boy left the bar a few hours later, barely buzzed. He was okay to drive; so, he hopped in his car and headed home. He was from the proverbial 'wrong side of the tracks,' so he had a relatively long way to go. Normally, he'd take the freeway, but he decided to take the backroads just to be safe.

"_Born to be wild_

_Born to be wild…"_

A missed stop sign.

Another car.

Like two ships in the night.

Twisted metal.

An unconscious man draped across his steering wheel. His wife's broken body lying on the pavement, her shallow breaths unseen in the moonlight. Both left to die.

The cops never found the other car or its driver.

* * *

**[Present Day]**

The final bell marking the end of the day had sounded long ago, yet Tony found himself still on campus. For the past half hour, he'd been hiding in his car, obsessively watching the football practice playing out on the field in front of him. More specifically, he was watching Natasha watch the practice. She was sitting in the bleachers, along with Clint Barton and a few members of Rogers's crew. With every passing minute, Tony grew more and more irritated.

All he wanted was to march over there and introduce himself. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted her to notice him. Several times, he started to get out before stopping himself. He couldn't go over there. Not when Rogers was present.

_Who knows what the All-American Golden Boy ™ has told her about me_….

Tony grimaced.

When he wasn't fighting the urge to go over there, Tony was struggling against another urge to retreat. For some reason, he got the feeling his presence had not gone unnoticed by the new girl. He felt like he was being watched. It would probably best if Tony did the smart thing and leave before he was spotted or something worse. Then again, even for a genius, Tony never really was all that smart….

_This would have all been so much easier a year ago_, he thought, bitterly.

* * *

Bruce sat in the passenger seat of Tony's car, studiously avoiding the scene in front of him. He ignored Tony's occasional mutterings and attempted to focus on the information in his textbook, instead.

He definitely wasn't thinking about red hair and soft, green eyes. He couldn't. He had to put them out of his mind.

Bruce came to the end of the assigned math reading and sighed. The only two assignments he had left were for biochemistry and Russian Lit. Both books were tucked safely in the bag at his feet.

"_I highly doubt someone like her would ever look twice at someone like me." _

His words from the day before intruded upon his careful avoidance of her. Yesterday, he'd believed himself, but for a few, happy hours, Bruce thought he might actually have a chance.

_If Tony and Steve were still friends_, he thought…. But it didn't matter.

* * *

"_No one knows what it's like_

_To be the bad man_

_To be the sad man_

_Behind blue eyes…"_

For the first time in nearly a year, the blue-eyed boy drove past the town line. His hair was a little longer, and his soul was a little older. Where once there was a smile, he now wore an impassive mask.

"_No one knows what it's like_

_To be hated_

_To be fated_

_To telling only lies…"_

Sitting astride his motorcycle, he drove further into town. As he did, a heavy weight settled upon his shoulders. He came to a fork in the road. One way would take him to his intended destination, while the other would loop back around, taking him back out of town. With his jaw set and brows furrowed, he pressed on.

* * *

Natasha was bored. Football was boring. Football practice was especially boring.  
And metal bleachers, in what essentially was late summer, were hot as hell.

It didn't take long for her to spot the car parked on the other side of the fence that separated the student lot from the football field. She recognized it from earlier that morning. Natasha could just make out two figures sitting inside. She figured one of them was the owner, Tony Stark, but she wondered if the other figure was the shy boy from her biochemistry class.

Natasha had searched for Bruce during lunch but never spotted him. Instead, she'd spent the entirety of lunch with Clint and his pals. Steve Rogers was a local town hero, and he seemed to be the de facto leader of their little group, which contained two massive boys named Thor Odinson and Peter Quill, Quill's girlfriend Gamora, an obsessive sycophant called Phil, a pretty brunette who Clint introduced as Laura, and a wise-cracking Sam Wilson.

As friendly as they all were, Natasha couldn't help but wish she could've spent at least some of lunch getting to know Bruce a bit better. She spent the rest of the day waiting for her Russian Lit class to come. When it finally came, she was surprised to find Bruce's behavior completely altered. It was as if he was a completely different person. Or, rather, the same person he was before they talked.

Natasha liked mysteries, but puzzles were easier to solve when they were accessible, and Bruce had completely closed himself off to her. Natasha then spent the entirety of class obsessing over what might have occurred to effect this change. She was still thinking about it when the roar of an engine broke her concentration.

The players on the field and the spectators in the stands turned to watch a motorcycle rider pull into the lot and disembark a large bike. The driver removed his helmet and two things happened almost simultaneously.

First, Tony Stark emerged from his own parked car, followed closely by Bruce Banner.

Second, Natasha's stomach flipped in recognition of the motorcycle rider as none other than James Buchanan Barnes.

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Somebody That I Used to Know" - Gotye


	5. Chapter 5

**Romeo & Juliet (pt. 1) - "A Serenade"**  


**[15 Months Earlier]**

Natasha liked getting to the studio before everyone else, so she could reserve her spot on the dance floor. Natasha preferred standing back in the furthest corner of the room, away from the door. Being in the back made it difficult to see herself in the mirror, but it did grant her some semblance of privacy. When she arrived today, however, her usual corner was already occupied by a beautiful boy with short, dark hair and blue eyes.

Momentarily shaken, Natasha paused, wondering if she should ask him to move, take the place next to him, find another place, or just leave. Ultimately, she settled for another spot in the back, several arms-length down from the interloper. As more students arrived, she was nudged closer and closer to the boy, until she was positioned in the spot directly next to him. Natasha didn't have much time to feel uncomfortable, though; the instructor entered shortly thereafter, and class commenced on schedule.

Natasha loved to dance. She loved the music, the way her arms floated through the air, how strong she felt, how beautiful…

But today, she was acutely aware of the boy next to her.

With his ratty gym clothes and tennis shoes, he seemed entirely out of place.

Occasionally, she felt his eyes flick sideways, watching her move as he fumbled through the steps, himself.

The lesson ended, and the dancers were dismissed, but Natasha stayed behind. She had long-standing deal with the owner of the studio that allowed her take classes for free and use the space in private for thirty minutes after class if she helped out on the weekends.

After her half-hour was up, Natasha gathered up her things and exited the studio. Still riding the endorphin high, she missed the figure leaning up against the wall outside the door.

"Hey!" a voice called out behind her.

Natasha whipped her head around, searching for the speaker. The sun was already setting, so visibility was difficult, but she managed to make out a figure standing in the shadows. She froze.

As if he could read her mind, the boy stepped out of the shadows, hands up in surrender.

"I'm sorry. I hope I didn't scare you," he said with an apologetic smile. "I just wanted to tell you that you're a beautiful dancer. I wasn't trying to stare, but you _were_ right next to me."

"Oh. Thanks," she said, almost whispering, and avoiding eye contact. She tried to move but couldn't. Then, "you were pretty good, too."

The boy laughed. "No, I wasn't."

She finally brought her eyes up to meet his. "Don't say that. Not a lot of people can get through a routine like that after a month, and it's only your first day."

"What makes you think that?" he asked.

"Because this is the only dance studio in town," she stated, matter-of-factly, "I've never seen you here before, and I never miss a class."

He smirked. "Fair enough. You caught me."

Silence settled between them, and Natasha almost turned away until he spoke again.

"So, uh, you're pretty good at all of this stuff, yeah?"

She shrugged. "You could say that."

"Would you be interested in helping me out? My coach—I'm on the football team over at Marvel High—told me about this class. I have a good arm, but my footwork's a little messy. He said a class like this would help, but that hour was torture. Too many people, you know?"

"Yeah."  
"_Yeah_, you know? Or, _yeah_, you'll help me?"

She pretended to mull the proposition over. "Hmm. I don't know. What's in it for me?"

He took the bait with a grin. "An excuse to do something you clearly love, and the pleasure of my company, of course."

"But I don't know you, and my mother told me never to talk to strangers."

Slowly, the boy approached Natasha, coming to a stop directly in front of her. She waited with bated breath. He held out his hand, which she accepted without hesitation.

"Hello, ma'am. Name's James Buchanan Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky."

"Nice to meet you, Bucky," she replied. "My name's Natasha—Natasha Romanoff."

"Would you look at that, Natasha—Natasha Romanoff. I don't see any strangers here."

They stood like that for some time, with hands intertwined and staring into one another's eyes. Finally, Natasha dropped his hand, stepping back a bit. She silently thanked the universe for the rapidly encroaching night that was surely hiding the blush on her cheeks.

Bucky was the first one to break the silent spell between them. "I don't see your car anywhere, Natasha. Are you waiting for your boyfriend to pick you up?" he asked, looking around at the empty parking lot.

She pointed to the bus bench across the street. "I take the bus."

He grinned. "So, no boyfriend, then."

"I didn't say that."

"But you didn't _not_ say it."

"That's a double negative."

"Are you positive?"

Natasha stopped, confused at his line of thought.

"What?" she asked.

"Date me."

Natasha tried to stop the smile, but her lips curled upwards as if they had a mind of their own.

"Does that line usually work?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Don't know. Never tried it. I get the feeling you're the type of girl who doesn't appreciate corny lines. Thought I'd come right out and ask."

"But you didn't."

"I didn't?"

She shook her head. "No. The way you said it. It wasn't a question. It was a command."

He arched an eyebrow. "Said what?"

"Date me."

His face lit up with a wide smile. "If you say so. My car is across the street. I know a great restaurant a couple blocks from here. My treat."

"Wait. Wh—what?" Natasha sputtered.

But Bucky was already grabbing her hand and ushering her across the street. Even after everything Natasha had ever heard about situations like the one she was in, she couldn't bring herself to feel afraid.

And, as it turned out, she had no reason to fear.  
True to his word, Bucky drove them to a restaurant a few blocks away. They spent hours engrossed in their own little world, talking and eating until closing time.

After leaving the restaurant, they decided to take around the block. Before even trying, Bucky asked if it was okay to hold her hand, so she let him.  
She let him drive her home.

She let him walk her to the front door.  
She would've let him kiss her, if he asked, but he didn't.

Instead, he asked for her number, promising to call her the next day. She consented, expecting not to hear from him for several days, at least, if ever. But he kept his promise. He called the very next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Phone calls turned into dates and, by the end of June, Bucky and Natasha were almost inseparable.

On the Forth of July, Bucky asked her to be his girlfriend. She said yes.

On a random day in August, as they were cuddling on the hood of Bucky's car, he told her that he loved her. She said it, too.

In September, Bucky disappeared.

* * *

**[Present Day]**

A year had passed since Bucky had left without a trace. She'd never met his parents or heard him speak of them, and she'd never met his friends, so she had no way of knowing what had happened to him. All she knew was that he was gone without a word explaining why.

For the first time in her life, Natasha felt a strong urge to run from confrontation. Even though she felt like she was owed an explanation, this was neither the time nor the place. She'd spent too much time wracking her brain for reasons, wondering at the endless possibilities; she'd already wasted too many tears.

He hadn't seen her yet. It wasn't too late.

But she couldn't move.

So, she watched as he sauntered across the field and was greeted by Steve Rogers with a quick hug. She watched as they talked, a range of emotions passing across each of their faces. She was watching them so intently that she didn't notice Tony Stark follow Bucky across the field.

Natasha only spotted him a moment before Steve and Bucky did, as he reached for Bucky's shoulder. She couldn't hear what Tony said, but it couldn't have been more than a few words before he punched Bucky in the face.  
Natasha jumped up, forgetting about the slats in the bleachers. She fell, making a good bit of noise as she did. When she finally righted herself, everyone was staring at her. Her friends on the bleachers, the players on the field—even Bruce, who had followed Tony onto the field. _Everyone_.

Including Tony Stark and, especially, Bucky Barnes.

_TO BE CONTINUED…_

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Romeo & Juliet" - Dire Straits


	6. Chapter 6

**Romeo & Juliet (pt. 2) – "Pretty Strangers"**

Tony watched Natasha flee the bleachers, surprised she could even walk after a fall like that, much less run.

He wanted to kick himself.

Would this be her first impression of him? Single-mindedly violent?

Blinded by rage at the sight of Bucky's long-absent face, he'd briefly forgotten she was even there.

Tony took an unconscious step in the direction she'd gone but was knocked back by a blow to the face. He heard an audible crack followed by searing pain. Tony stumbled backwards, unable to see or perceive anything other than the blinding pain of his—most likely—broken nose.

A cacophony of voices erupted around him. Over the din, he could make out Rogers shouting, "Buck, stop!" and Bruce's nervous pleas for everyone to calm down. Even though Tony couldn't see, he would've bet good money that it was Bruce who was now tugging on his arm, trying to prevent him from swinging wildly at Barnes.

The surrounding chaos was building to a crescendo when one voice rose above the noise, bringing everyone and everything to a screeching halt.

"Hey! What in the hell is going on out here?"

Even though his vision was starting to clear despite the constant onslaught of pain, Tony closed his eyes, hoping the voice didn't belong to the person he thought it did.

But the timbre in Mr. Fury's voice was unmistakable. "I asked you boys a question, and it wasn't for my damn health! Someone better start talking!"

Bruce spoke first. "Sorry for the commotion, sir. There was an accident, and—"

"I don't wanna hear nothing about no accident. Do I look stupid to you, Banner? Do I? Tell me I look stupid. Go ahead. Make my day." Mr. Fury paused, waiting for a reply. Bruce wisely kept silent. "Mhmm. That's what I thought. Now who wants to tell me what's really going on here?"

"Sorry, Buck, but it's the right thing to do," Tony heard Rogers whisper to Barnes. "Mr. Fury, these two were fighting, but we were breaking it up, sir, and I'd just like to repeat Bruce's apology for the commotion," Rogers said a bit louder.

"And I'd like to stick my foot up each and every one of your backsides, but the schoolboard frowns on that kind of thing, so why don't you and Mr. Barnes take a little trip with me to the Administration Office."

"Yes, sir," Rogers replied.

"And Banner!" Mr. Fury turned his attention to Bruce.

"Yes, sir?"

"See to it that Mr. Stark, here, makes it to the nurse's office in one piece and stay there until I come get you two. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"And hurry. Nurse Parker usually leaves around 3:30, and it's," he paused to look down at his watch, "3:07, now. Don't make her stay longer than she needs to. If she has to go before I come get you, I better find your hides sitting outside her office. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good! Now get."

* * *

Nurse Parker was still there by the time Tony and Bruce hobbled into her office, but she wasn't alone. Upon entering, both boys were greeted by the sight of Natasha perched on the examination table, holding an ice pack on her ankle.

The nurse stood up as Tony and Bruce entered. "Hello, boys. How can I—ah, Tony. What happened this time?"

Tony's nose had almost stopped bleeding on the walk to the office, but he'd kept his hand over his nose, just in case. At Nurse Parker's question, he pulled his hand away, revealing the partially dried blood and the rapidly darkening bruise the stretched from his nose to his left eye and upper cheek bone.

"Tony, Tony, Tony. Why don't you hop up there and have a seat next to Ms. Romanoff, so I can get a better look at you…" Nurse Parker waited for Tony to follow her directions before reaching for his face to inspect the wound more clearly.

Tony kind of loved going to the nurse's office. Nurse Parker always smelled liked baked goods. It reminded him of his mother before the accident.

As the nurse examined Tony's nose, Bruce hovered by the door, unsure of what to do with himself.

"Well, it doesn't look like it's broken, at least not broken to the point of needing to be re-set, but I'd try to avoid sneezing if I were you. The bruising is pretty bad, so it's going to hurt for a while, and it's not going to look pretty. You weren't fighting again, were you?"

"I had to Nurse Parker, he made disparaging remarks about your walnut date loaf. I couldn't let that stand." Tony grinned, and some of the dried blood cracked and peeled away from his skin in tiny flakes.

Nurse Parker rolled her eyes and made a _tsk-ing_ sound, as she retrieved several packets of antiseptic wipes. "Here. Clean the excess blood off. Ms. Romanoff has my last compress, but I have some more stored in the large freezer over in the cafeteria. Can you behave yourselves for a few minutes?"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Nurse Parker."

"Tony…"

"Which is to say, of course, ma'am. Anything for you, ma'am," Tony said, correcting himself.

Seemingly satisfied, Nurse Parker turned on her heel and exited the office. The moment she left, the three remaining inhabitants fell silent.

"Hey, Bruce," Natasha finally said, wincing when the small wave she offered jostled her leg.

When his buddy didn't respond, Tony gave him _the look_.

Bruce looked like he wanted to die in that moment. "Hey, Natasha. How are you…Are you…um, you're…what I mean to say is…" he sputtered.

Tony waited, hoping Bruce would spit it out, but he could only listen to that kind of verbal train wreck for so long before putting the poor kid out of his—and their—misery. He turned to Natasha. "Are you okay, um, Natasha, right? That was a pretty nasty fall, you had there."

Natasha winced. "That bad, huh?"

"I once stubbed my toe and had to call out sick. You, on the other hand…you went down so hard that someone should've shouted timber, but you jumped up like it was nothing. Honestly, this morning, George Carlin was my hero, but I bet you could give him a run for his money."

"And be your hero?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

"Yes. Hard yes. One hundred percent. Please be the Enrique Iglesias to my Jennifer Love Hewitt."

Natasha blinked several times in rapid succession. "So," she seemed to be struggling to find an appropriate response, "what you're saying, is you want me to roll around with you on a bed of money before Mickey Rourke kills me with a baton after a lame slap fight?"

"Yes, please. I'll bring the money, and you can bring the frilly, white dress. And if it doesn't rain, I'll just have Bruce, here, hold a hose over us," Tony replied, rapidly losing control over his faux-serious facial expression.

Natasha nodded along, biting her lower lip, in concentration. Tony was impressed with both her ability and her willingness to play along.

"But what about Mickey Rourke? Who's supposed to be Mickey Rourke in this scenario?" she asked, her words a challenge.

Tony considered her question for a moment. "My father knows a lot of people. If we can't get the real thing, then he has an old friend in Russia with a son who, I swear, is a dead ringer for Rourke. Ian, I think. Or was it Evan? No…Yvonne?"

Natasha's eyes lit up. "Yvonne? From what I remember, Yvonne is French for 'little croissant', so I don't think your father's friend—er—friend's son's name is Yvonne."

"You know, Natasha, I think you're right," Tony replied, "except for one thing."

Natasha waited for Tony to continue.

"The correct translation is actually 'my lil' croissant,' not 'little croissant,'" Tony finished, a triumphant smile on his face.

Natasha pursed her lips. "You know…I think you might be right, but the meaning is generally the same, rendering your correction pedantic and arguably unfunny."

This time, it was Tony's turn to blink. "I am at a loss for words. Speechless, dear. You've rendered me speechless. This has never happened to me before."

"And still hasn't, apparently," she said with a smirk.

Tony was about to reply when Nurse Parker re-entered with a few cold compresses. She handed one to Tony and tried to pass the other one to Bruce.

"Oh, no thank you, ma'am. I'm not hurt."

She gave Bruce a visual once-over before tossing the extra compresses into a mini-freezer. "Okay. I need to pop over to the room next door and finish my end-of-day paperwork. Can I trust you three to behave for a little while longer?"

All three nodded in unison, and Nurse Parker disappeared again. Bruce shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other before quietly excusing himself to go to the bathroom.

"So," Natasha started, turning back to Tony, once Bruce had left, "what was that whole thing between you and Bu-boy, you and that boy earlier?"

"Bruce?" Tony asked, confused and jerking a thumb towards the door Bruce had just left through.

"No. The other one. Bucky, right?"

No longer confused, Tony merely frowned. "Oh. Him. It's nothing."

"It didn't seem like nothing. I know I'm new here, but I don't think it's exactly commonplace anywhere to greet people by punching them."

"Hey, you never know. Weird things happen all the time," Tony quipped. "Did you know there's a festival in Bangkok where people host a buffet for monkeys? It's called the Monkey Buffet Festival. A very fitting name, I think. Very self-explanatory, too. Just the name, though. I've always found the actual festival to be a bit of a head-scratcher, but I try not to judge the customs of others. You could learn from me, Grasshopper."

"I'm sure, but I grew up in the area, and I've never heard of a custom where people say 'hello' with their fists. You don't have to tell me, but no amount of Monkey Buffet Festival talk is going to distract me. You can just say you don't want to talk about it."

"Are you sure?" Tony asked. "Because I have an entire bit on camel wrestling in Turkey ready to go. It's not just diverting. It's also entertaining as well as educational. Good, clean fun for the whole family."

Natasha just stared at him in response.

Tony sighed. "I don't have proof, but I'm pretty sure Barnes was responsible for the car crash that nearly killed my mom a year ago. I really don't like talking about it." He allowed his head to dip down, avoiding her gaze, and trying to maintain his composure.

Suddenly, he felt a soft, warm hand cover his own. He looked over to see Natasha staring at him. Tony hated pity, but this wasn't it. Her eyes were filled with compassion and understanding. She was trying to comfort him. For the first time, Tony felt like he could finally let everything go, just break down and tell this girl everything, even the things he hadn't told anyone else. With absolutely no reason to, he felt like could trust her with his most intimate secrets. He was about to give in to that feeling when a thought occurred to him.

"And how do you know Barnes?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I never said I did."

"Yeah, you did. You might not have meant to, but you did."

"No. I didn't," she replied, her eyes going a fraction wider than before.

It was all the confirmation he needed to press further. "Yeah-huh. You called him 'Bucky.'"

"That's what you called him," she shot back.

Tony's laugh was hollow. "I've never called him 'Bucky.' I always call him 'Barnes.'"

Natasha went still, her lips drawn together in a tight line. She stayed like that so long, Tony's momentary anger dissipated, and he started to grow genuinely concerned, if only a little annoyed.

Eventually, she sighed, the tension sagging from her shoulders. "Fine. We used to go out or date or whatever. It was over a year ago, and I haven't seen him since. I guess I was just a little startled to see him again."

"Was it serious?" he asked, immediately horrified by his own, intrusive question.

Natasha looked away, but he still heard her answer: "I guess not…"

Tony looked down at their hands. Hers was still resting on top of his. Slowly, he turned his hand, allowing their fingers to intertwine.

There was a noise out in the hall, and then Mr. Fury appeared in the doorway. Natasha released Tony's hand before he could spot them.

"Stark! Where's Banner?"

"He went to the bathroom, sir."

Mr. Fury's gazed bounced back and forth between Natasha and Tony. "Mhmm. Well, if you would be so kind, Ms. Romanoff, could you please send Mr. Banner to the principal's office when he returns?"

Natasha nodded.

Mr. Fury beckoned to Tony with one crooked finger.

Tony turned to Natasha. "It was nice meeting you. Let's do this real soon. Maybe with less blood, though."

"Nah-ah," Mr. Fury interjected. "Don't be messing with Ms. Romanoff. She's new. She doesn't need your bad influence. Now get outta here."

Tony winked at Natasha and hopped off the examination table. He crossed the room in a few, short strides and slid past Mr. Fury, whose massive frame was still blocking most of the doorway. When he finally managed to make it out into the hallway, he nearly ran into Barnes. The other boy was leaning up against the wall with a scowled plastered on his face. Tony just blew him a kiss and walked right by him.

He'd finally met Natasha Romanoff, and it was almost everything he'd hoped for. He had every reason to be giddy as he walked down the hall, at least until Mr. Fury caught up to him. Tony looked back over his shoulder to watch Bucky turn into the nurse's office, with one last glare back at Tony before he disappeared inside.

Tony's stomach turned. Natasha had said it wasn't serious and that it was long over, but there was another emotion there when she said it, raw and hiding just under the surface and between the lines. If Tony had to guess, Bucky probably broke Natasha's heart.

_And now they're alone in the nurse's office together. _

Tony swallowed past the lump that was quickly forming in his throat.

_Well, isn't that just great?_

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Romeo & Juliet" - Dire Straits


	7. Chapter 7

**Romeo & Juliet (pt. 3) – "Lovestruck"**

When their meeting with Principal Ross and Mr. Fury was finished, Steve and Bucky parted ways, with the latter directed to head to the nurse's office to have his injury inspected.

"I'll follow you in a moment," Mr. Fury said, adding, "and don't let me catch you starting anything else. You know what, just wait outside in the hall until I get there. Am I clear?"

Bucky nodded in confirmation and took off in the direction of the hall.

Not much had changed during the year he'd been gone, and Bucky found the office with relative ease. Just as Mr. Fury had directed, Bucky waited outside, leaning up against the wall as he did. For a moment, he was perfectly content—except for the slight throbbing of his nose and busted lip—until he heard what had to be Tony Stark's voice saying his name.

_"And how do you know Barnes?" _

Bucky inched closer to the door, straining to hear the conversation and find out who Stark was talking to. He hissed when he heard the reply.

_ "I never said I did." _

Natasha's voice was just as he remembered, raspy yet warm, like honey—as familiar and comforting as home.

_"Yeah, you did. You might not have meant to, but you did,"_ he heard Tony argue.

They went back and forth like that for a while until they fell silent. It was all Bucky could do to keep from going against Mr. Fury's orders and storming in there.

Finally, Natasha's voice cut through the silence. _"Fine. We used to go out or date or whatever. It was over a year ago, and I haven't seen him since. I guess I was just a little startled to see him again."_

Bucky cringed. He'd never heard her sound so resigned, so apathetic. His head bowed under the weight of Natasha's disappointment.

_"Was it serious?"_

Bucky's head snapped up. He leaned as close to the door as he dared, desperate to hear her reply. After Stark asked his question, the stretch of silence that followed was pure torture.

_"I guess not…" _

It was like a punch to the gut. Bucky wasn't sure if he wanted to hear anymore. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he couldn't decide, Mr. Fury chose that exact moment to come marching down the hall. Bucky hung back, both waiting for Mr. Fury's next order and so he could continue processing his own emotions.

Whatever Stark and Mr. Fury were saying, Bucky didn't know. Their voices were drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He felt dizzy and lightheaded and sick.

_Not serious? But she'd told him…_

Bucky struggled to breathe.

It was only when he heard Stark address Natasha once more, that Bucky was able to pull himself somewhat together.

_"It was nice meeting you. Let's do this real soon. Maybe with less blood, though."_

While he never really cared for Stark, Bucky had never had anything against him, but in that moment, Bucky wanted to kill him. The thought of Stark spending any more time with Natasha had Bucky seeing red. He took a deep breath.

Tony finally exited the office. Bucky didn't like the smug, self-satisfied look the other boy had on his face, especially given the circumstances. He scowled at Stark, who responded to the glare by blowing Bucky a kiss and walking right by him. Bucky balled up his fists to keep from hitting Stark again. He was already on thin ice with Principal Ross. Still, that didn't stop him from following Stark's retreating figure with his eyes and imagining all sorts on non-life-threatening yet violent scenarios.

Mr. Fury popped out of the office. "Nurse Parker will be in with you in a few minutes. Do yourself a favor and wait quietly."

"Yes, sir."

Bucky watched Mr. Fury follow after Stark, who turned to look back just as he was about to disappear around the corner. Bucky shot him one last threatening look before ducking into the nurse's office…

…where he came face-to-face with Natasha.

Nothing on Earth and beyond could have prepared Bucky for the look on her face. He'd expected her to be upset, angry even. He'd thought there'd be yelling, harsh words, or tears. Hell, he would have understood if she said she hated him and never wanted to see him again. Instead, her eyes were vacant and her face impassive, like she was looking through him instead of at him.

He waited for her to do something, anything. Any response would have been better than this empty nothingness—this lack of response.

"Hey, Tasha," he said, not willing to risk anything else without a response from her. He didn't have to wait long.

It was as if a switch had been flipped on in her brain; Natasha's head snapped up, her eyes finding his. He nearly took a step back from the intensity of her stare. "Don't call me that. Don't you dare call me that."

There it was, that…_fire_. It was what he loved most about her.

"Then what am I supposed to call you? I've always called you Tasha. You used to love it, remember?"

"Yeah, well, a lot can happen in a year."

Unsure of how to respond, Bucky remained silent.

"Or didn't you realize," Natasha continued, "that it's been a year since you disappeared. Just…poof. Gone. Like you were never here. No word. No note. Nothing. Like I was nothing."

"Of course, you aren't nothing. You're everything," Bucky whispered.

She shook her head, chuckling darkly. "You could've fooled me."

"Please, Tasha, let me explain."

"I told you not to call me that," she shot back, her voice getting dangerously quiet. "And explain what, exactly? What explanation is there for leaving town and disappearing for a year? Or almost a year. Did you get sucked through a portal and land in an alternate universe where they don't have cell phone or internet reception? Because that would be the only good excuse. Even if you didn't have time to explain _before_ you left, it's not like you didn't have my number, so the least you could've done was call me. The way I see it, any explanation is meaningless."

Nurse Parker entered just then. "Ah, Mr. Barnes, I take it you were the one insulting my baking…"

"Your what?" he asked, his gaze never wavering from Natasha's face, until Nurse Parker came to a stop in front of him, blocking his view.

She laughed. "I'm only joking. It's something Mr. Stark said before you came in."

Bucky grimaced as Nurse Parker poked and prodded at his busted mouth and bruised nose before declaring that he would be fine.

"I'm going to make you an ice pack for the road and send you on your way. It's about time I headed home, myself. Ms. Romanoff, dear, you should be good to go now. Just leave the cold compress on the table. I'll take care of it."

"Thank you, Nurse Parker," Natasha replied with a sweetness to her voice that hadn't been there only moments before. She hopped off the examination table and walked out of the office, limping slightly as she went.

As soon as Natasha was out of view, Bucky's entire body grew tense. He waited as patiently as possible for Nurse Parker to finish making the ice pack. With every second that passed, Natasha was getting farther and farther away from him. Bucky considered refusing the ice pack and just going after Natasha right then and there, but he didn't want to arouse the nurse's suspicions.

"Here you go," Nurse Parker said with a smile when she'd finally finished.

Bucky thanked her and all but ran from the nurse's office. He jogged through the halls, frantically searching for her. After looking everywhere, Bucky was forced to admit defeat.

_Maybe I could try her at home_, he thought before rejecting the idea. _Too stalker-y. Don't wanna upset her any more than I already have. _

Bucky had finally left the school building and was crossing the parking lot, when he caught sight of a red flash in his peripheral vision. He turned his head, scanning the student lot, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her leaning up against a car.

"Natasha!" he called out as he ran across the lot.

She looked up, and her face fell. "What part of all that made you think I wanted anything more to do with you?"

"Please, I…" he began, about to press on with as much of his explanation as possible until he noticed the car she was leaning against. The black Chevy Stingray was at least a $50k car.

_Since when does she have one of these?_ He looked around for another person, someone able to afford a car like this, but he found none.

"Please, Tasha—sorry, Natasha—please, can we just go somewhere and talk?" he begged.

For a moment, it looked like she was considering it. Bucky finally felt some of the weight falling from his shoulders, but it all came crashing down in the next moment when she shook her head.

"But I don't know you, and my mother told me never to talk to strangers," she replied, parroting her reply from their first meeting, as she slid into the driver's seat of her car. Once inside, she closed the door, and it locked with an audible _click_.

Bucky stood there helplessly, waiting for her to come back out. He would never force her to do anything she didn't want to do, and he was worried that he would upset or frighten her if he approached the car; so, he just stood there, unable to move.

Suddenly, he heard the locking mechanism release. Bucky looked up hopefully only to feel about a hundred times worse as he watched an unfamiliar young man slide into the passenger seat of Natasha's car. The door locked behind the stranger, and the car pulled away.

Devastated, Bucky watched her leave.

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Romeo & Juliet" - Dire Straits


	8. Chapter 8

**Sympathy For The Devil**

Loki couldn't have planned it better if he tried. After just two days, his senior year was shaping up to be the most exciting yet, and he had Natasha Romanoff to thank for that. She didn't know it, but her very presence was all Loki finally needed to put his plan into action.

Bucky's arrival back in town was a given. Loki had made sure of it. But this new girl, with her fiery curls, knowing looks, and all-around aura of mystery, had the key players at Marvel High falling all over themselves to get her attention.

_This will be easy. _

_Too easy. _

_So easy, it almost isn't fair. _

But fairness didn't concern Loki. He'd been playing against the odds for too long; it was someone else's turn.

From his hiding spot in a shadowy corner of the parking lot, Loki had a fantastic view of Bucky racing after Natasha. When she'd shut him down and locked herself in her car, Loki felt positively giddy, but the real warm-and-fuzzies came from seeing the look of absolute devastation on Barnes's face.

Loki watched until Clint joined Natasha, and the two left campus together. After stealing one last look at Barnes's delightfully delicious despair, Loki turned back inside, hoping he hadn't missed too much of Stark's meeting with Principal Ross. He also needed to know how Banner would respond to Stark's brazen flirtation with the new girl. It was vital to the plan.

_Natasha Romanoff, you sly, little minx, you. You've gone and done all the heavy lifting for me. I could kiss you._

The thought appealed to Loki, who decided to keep it in mind in case it could be of use to him later.

The hallways were mostly emptied at this point. It was nearly 4 p.m., and all of the clubs were either finishing, finished, or had yet to occur on just the second day of the new school year. Loki preferred the empty silence. He made it all the way to the principal's office without encountering another soul. It was glorious.

Loki slipped quietly into the administration office and posted up in the copy room. From there, he could see through the open window of the principal's interior office. Banner had already joined Stark and Mr. Fury in their meeting with Principal Ross. It was more difficult to hear, but Loki caught enough, and he was adept at reading body language. As he watched the two, Loki thoroughly studied Stark and Banner's postures and mannerisms, grinning at the slightest variances from their normal behavior. If he was right—a point he didn't doubt—then Banner's unconscious leaning away from Stark, whose eyes kept flicking over to his friend, was a clear sign that their friendship was beginning to fracture.

Just as the meeting was wrapping up, Loki slipped out the way he came, and took up a position beside a row of lockers. The lockers at Marvel High protruded 12 inches from the wall, providing adequate cover. Stark's car was parked near where Miss Romanoff's had been, so there was little chance that they would pass Loki's new hiding spot.

Sure enough, when Stark and Banner emerged, they took off in the opposite direction. Loki followed them, sticking close to the walls with their many nooks and crannies, and always leaving a little distance between himself and the pair just in case.

As they walked through the halls, Stark complained about Principal Ross and his punishment. Banner remained silent.

"I mean, two weeks? Two weeks? It's the beginning of the school year, and Ross is going to give me two weeks of detention? I mean…how is that even fair?" Stark complained.

Banner shrugged, seemingly uninterested in Stark's diatribe. He reached the doors to the parking lot first. Instead of holding the door open, Banner released it the moment he passed through, allowing it to fall shut, almost hitting Stark.

"Hey, man. What the hell?"

"Sorry," Banner muttered.

Stark stared after his friend, completely ignorant to Loki as he slipped through the door after them and retreated into the shadows. Banner was walking in a different direction than his friend's car. Stark watched him go, puzzled at the change in his behavior.

"Bruce, buddy, where are you going? The car is this way," Stark called out, pointing in the direction of his car.

At this, Banner finally turned around, although he still avoided eye contact. "Sorry, Tony, but I think I'm going to walk home, today."

"But I thought we were going to order pizza, work on Ultron a bit, and then pass out on the couch. If you don't wanna do that, I'm sure we could come up with something else. I hear girls braid each other's hair and talk about boys. Do you wanna talk about boys? Cause if you wanna talk about boys, I will talk about boys with you, buddy."

Banner's mouth tightened into a straight line as Stark rambled on. Loki watched, every inch of him vibrating in anticipation.

Stark approached Banner hesitantly. "What's up, Bruce?"

Banner shoved his hands into his pockets. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then looked away, shaking his head.

"Come on, buddy. Tell Tony what's wrong," Stark said, attempting to tease the information out of Banner. For added measure, he playfully poked his friend in the stomach. "Come on. You can say. What's wrong? I'm not gonna stop until you tell me, so—"

"You!" Banner finally snapped. "You're what's wrong, Tony. I mean, you knew I liked her, but you had to make it all about you, like you always do."

"I don't always—"

"Yes, Tony. You do. Normally, I don't mind. I'm generally content to let you take the lead in everything we do, but you crossed the line."  
"How, Bruce? How did I cross the line?" Tony fired back. "Last time I checked, Natasha is not your girlfriend, and even if she was, she's certainly wouldn't be your property."  
Banner's mouth fell slightly open, but he recovered quickly. "I never said she was."

"But that's what you're insinuating. If I crossed a line, then where was it? All I did was talk to her. And, spoiler alert, I had to because all you could do was stand there like an idiot. It was difficult to watch. Like, physically painful. I thought I was helping you."

Banner scoffed. "Sure."

Stark's eyes narrowed. "Bruce, if you like her, you're going to have to actually talk to her at some point. She's not a freakin' mind reader."

Loki was nearly floating off the pavement at this point. _Forget kissing the girl, I'm going to send her a damn fruit basket. _

He shook the thought from his head when Stark started speaking again.

"Bruce," he said, his tone considerably softer, "you know you're one of my best buds. If you're interested in Natasha, then I'm not going to stop you, but you can't claim dibs on a person. That's not right. I'm not going to lie; I'm pretty interested, too, but I'll back off if that's what you want."

Slowly, Banner raised his eyes to meet Stark's. "Really?"

Loki's happy soul plummeted back down to Earth.

_Dammit!_

Stark visibly relaxed. "Of course, buddy. I don't like the usual saying cause it's a bit sexist, but I'm a firm believer in choosing friends over romantic entanglements."

Banner raised an eyebrow at Stark's allusion to the popular saying.

"But know this," Stark continued, "if she actively pursues me in any way—be it for friendship or whatever—I'm not going to blow her off. Same goes for if you take too long. Hell, I'll talk you up in the meantime if you want, but if you don't do anything about it, then I don't want you holding it against me if I wanna take a shot."

Banner looked less pleased at this, but he nodded all the same.

_Oh well_, Loki thought. _I can still work with this._

Stark clapped an arm around Banner's shoulders. "So, lil' buddy. Whaddya say we head back to my place for some pizza and robots?"

"And you mentioned something about hair?" Banner teased, the humor slowly returning to his face.

Stark pulled a mock-serious expression. "Yes. Braiding, I believe. But don't expect me to French braid. This is America. We do American braids here."

"What is an American braid?"

"No clue, lil' buddy. No clue," Stark replied, patting Banner on the head.

"And I remember something about boys?"

The two were walking in the direction of Stark's car, so their voices faded out of earshot. Loki finally emerged from the shadows. So, maybe it wouldn't be as easy as he'd originally thought, but he'd learned a great deal.

_I can still make this work. _

* * *

When Loki pulled into the massive circular driveway of the Odinson estate, he quickly spotted a familiar car parked next to his brother's. He grinned. After the slight let down back at the school, he was in desperate need of some entertainment.

Loki's suspicions were confirmed upon entering the manor and hearing the sound of fumbling hands and smacking lips. His grin grew.

"Once again, brother, you were right," Loki called out, allowing his voice to carry. "I just happened to catch a glance of the new girl you were going on about last night. While I wouldn't use your exact phrases, I would have to agree, that Natasha Romanoff girl _is_ rather beautiful."  
The noises stopped as Loki was speaking.

"However, brother, I must insist that if you wish to tell me about your intended sexual conquests, I would prefer it if you could use the language of a gentleman. Mother raised you better than that. I will say that you do have a way with words, though. I honestly can't get that one horrifying image out of my brain. What was it you said exactly? The thing about her tongue and your—"

Loki paused just in time to hear a slew of protestations followed by the unmistakable sound of a dainty hand slapping Thor's face. Moments later, Jane Foster emerged from the other room, pulling her blouse back over her head as she stormed passed him.

"Ah, Jane. What a pleasure. I had no idea you were here. How lovely."

Jane ignored him and stormed out the door, slamming it behind her. Loki bounced on the balls of his feet and nearly skipped into the room Jane had just vacated.

Thor was still lying on the sofa with his shirt off and an annoyed expression. "Loki, what on Earth are you talking about? Now Jane thinks I'm, well, I'm not quite sure I know what she thinks, but it can't be good," he said, rubbing his cheek. The skin was bright red from where Jane had slapped him.

Loki rolled his eyes. "Oh, brother, I cannot abide by your obsession with that girl."  
"But Jane is wonderful. If only you would take the time to get to know her—"

"Yes, Thor. I'm sure she's wonderful, but you miss the point of youth, my dear, sweet, simple brother. You should not be tethering yourself to one girl, no matter how wonderful she is. I say this as someone who _only_ has your very best interests at heart. If you settle down too early, you will spend the rest of your life building resentment against that poor girl and all because you didn't take the time to make sure she was the one. And you can only be certain if you have something to compare her to. If you love Jane, you must do this. You don't just owe it to yourself; you owe it to her, brother."

Thor's eyes went a bit wonky trying to follow Loki's train of thought. In the end, he gave up, nodding in agreement. Loki smiled, reveling in the ease with which he could trick the oaf.

"Well, brother, I must leave you. Only the second day of school, and I find myself buried under a mountain of homework. Please let mother and father know that I will be taking dinner in my room."

Thor gave a non-committal grunt that Loki assumed to be a "yes."  
Loki's smile only faded as he ascended the stairs to his room. Just over a year ago, he'd learned of his true origins—the deep, dark secret his parents had tried to hide from him. Now, as he passed all of the pictures and trophies that lined the walls and filled the shelves, the manor-wide shrine to Thor made sense.

_Brother. Ha! When my plan is complete, they'll finally see which of their children is superior. I may not have been born into this family, but I know the truth now. If they will not give me their love as freely as they give it to you, I will take it. _

_Then, I will make you watch as I burn this shrine to the ground. _

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Sympathy for the Devil" - The Rolling Stones


	9. Chapter 9

**We're Going to Be Friends**

**[11 Years Earlier]**

Clint shuffled down the road, his hands stuffed into the front pockets of his slacks. He hated the uniform. It was too crisp, too clean—just like the new shoes his mother had gotten for him. With each step, Clint was all too aware of the stiff material of his new, white sneakers. He kicked a rock, leaving a scuff mark on the exterior of the toe. He frowned, remembering his mother's warning:  
_"You better not get those shoes dirty, Clinton Francis Barton, or I'll tan your hide!" _

Clint stopped to lick his thumb and rub the dirt off. He continued his walk, making sure to pick up his feet.

When he got to the end of the dirt path of his family's property, he was surprised to see another kid walking down the main road. It was a little girl with bright red hair and a matching uniform. She stopped when she saw him, taking in his uniform and then looking down at her own.

"Are you going to Lee Elementary, too?" she asked.

"Yeah," Clint replied, "I'm gonna be a first grader, not a kindergartener," which he pronounced as _kindagardner_.

"Me, too!" the little girl grinned, highlighting the absence of her two front teeth.

Clint frowned. "But you didn't go to kindergarten," he said, mispronouncing it again.

"Yeah-huh."

"Nah-ah."

"Yeah-huh."

"Nah-ah, 'cause I didn't see you there. And I woulda remembered, too, 'cause you got weird hair. That's not a normal color."

"That's not nice," the little girl said, crossing her arms over her chest, "and I did too go to kindergarten. So, there!" She stuck her tongue out at him to emphasize the taunt.

"But I didn't see you," Clint argued, trying to wrap his six-year-old brain around this strange creature at the end of his family's driveway.

The little girl rolled her eyes. "That's 'cause I just moved here, duh. I went to a different kindergarten."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Clint looked down at his shoes, noticing another scuff mark. Again, he licked his thumb and rubbed at the smudge of dirt.

"Whaddaya doing that for?" the little girl asked.

Clint straightened back up. "'Cause my momma said she was gonna tan my hide if I got my new shoes dirty."

"Oh." The girl swung her backpack off of her shoulders and dropped it on the ground. She rifled through it for a moment before pulling out two plastic bags. The first bag held some food, which she emptied out into the front pouch of her backpack. The second bag was tied around a thermos, which she jammed into the slightly smaller, open pouch on the side. Then, little girl marched over to Clint and knelt down in front of him, holding one bag open. "Put your foot in this."

Too confused to argue, Clint did as she asked and watched in stunned silence as she tied the plastic bag around his ankle. She did the same thing with the second plastic bag to his other foot.

"There," she said, grinning triumphantly, "now you won't get your shoes dirty when we walk to school."

"You wanna walk with me?" Clint asked. It wasn't exactly a request; rather, he was merely struck by her casual mention of "we."

Nonetheless, the little girl nodded in agreement. "If that's okay. I don't know nobody, so I don't have any friends."

"Oh. Okay," Clint replied. Then, "you can be my friend if you want."

"Okay."

They grinned at one another, the silence comfortable and unburdened by insecurities absent at their age.

"I'm Clint, by the way."

The girl pulled up to her full height, which wasn't very tall at all, and stuck her hand out. "Nice to meet you, Clint. I'm Natasha."

Clint imitated her actions, every detail, right down to the serious look on her face. As they shook hands, neither Clint nor Natasha could stop their goofy smiles.

Eventually, they grew aware of the time slipping away, so they resumed their walk to school. Conversation flowed naturally between them, as if they'd known each other for years instead of minutes. Clint talked about his upcoming birthday at the end of the month and his hopes for a new bike, while Natasha talked about her mom and her old school.

Towards the end of their walk, they came to a park. A short, fence ran around the area, and the school was visible on the other side.

"Wanna cut through the park?" Clint asked. He'd originally planned to walk around the enclosure, but now that he was no longer worried about his shoes, he had no problem climbing the fence and cutting across the grassy field.

"Sure."

Clint held his hands together to give Natasha a boost. When she was safely perched on top of the fence, she returned the favor by helping my pull himself up. Together, they jumped down on the other side, falling over as they landed. Even though both of their uniforms were now a little dirty, Natasha pointed out that Clint's shoes were still fine. Their six-year-old logic led them to believe that Clint's mom would still be happy (ultimately, a misguided notion).

Cutting across the park saved tons of time. With the entrance to the park parallel to that of the school, Clint and Natasha decided to take a break underneath a tree with leaves that were just starting to fall. From there, the conversation continued unabated and covered every subject they could think of until Clint found a roly poly bug and held it out, hoping to scare his new friend. Instead, Natasha examined the bug and asked to hold it.

"You're not afraid?" Clint asked in awe.

"Nope. Why would I be? It's just a roly poly bug. I think they're cute."  
"They're so not cute," Clint argued. "They're awesome."

Natasha rolled her eyes at him for the second time. "Things can be two things. Roly poly bugs are cute_ and_ awesome. Duh."

Clint nodded. "Yeah. That makes sense. I've heard that before."

"Uh-huh. Sure," Natasha teased.

As Clint watched Natasha handle the bug, he couldn't help but think Natasha was cool. His older brother, Barney, had always said that girls were gross. "You're not gross."

"What?"

"I said, 'you're not gross.'"

"Oh. Thanks?"

"It's just that my brother always said…oh, just forget it. You're cool. I like you."

Natasha considered this for a moment. "I like you, too."

"Wanna be best friends?" Clint asked.

"How is that different from regular friends?"  
"It means we have to make a pact right here and now that we promise to always be friends forever and ever."  
Natasha shrugged her shoulders. "Sure."

"Normally, you seal pacts with blood, but I don't wanna do that. Also, I don't have a needle. So, we're gonna have to seal it with spit, okay?"  
Natasha scrunched up her nose. "That's kinda gross. Do we hafta?"

"Yeah, or else it's not official."

"Ugh. Fine," Natasha agreed with an exaggerated sigh.

Clint spit into his hand, and Natasha followed his example. They slapped their hands together and shook them, each reciting: "I swear to be bestest friends forever and ever and ever." (Clint proposed the inclusion of the last "ever" because it made their pact more special than anyone else's).

The bell rang, and both kids hopped up. With great reluctance, they left their tree in the park and made their way towards the school, stopping to look both ways before crossing the street and making sure to hold hands as they did.

Luckily, Clint and Natasha were in the same class. They sat side-by-side all day, ate lunch together, played with each other during recess, and stood next to one another during circle time as the teacher led the class in song. Natasha carried a tune quite well, but Clint squawked all the way through, earning a giggle from his new best friend, snickering from the other kids, and a pained smile from the teacher.

When the day was done, Clint and Natasha walked home together. Once more, conversation came easily as they recounted their most and least favorite parts of their first day of first grade. Natasha claimed that singing was her favorite, while Clint argued that it was the worst part of the day.

"Well, I thought it was fun," Natasha stated, much to Clint's dismay.

"But the teacher kept looking at me funny, and everyone laughed at me._ You_ laughed at me," Clint said with a frown. He kicked a rock as they drew closer to his family's dirt driveway, free to do so now that the bags were once more tied around his shoes. "One kid even said I squawked like a hawk."

Natasha paused. "Do hawks squawk?"

Clint shrugged. "Dunno. Never heard one."

"Hmm. I like it. I'm gonna call you Lil' Hawk from now on," Natasha announced, throwing her arms around Clint's shoulders and enveloping him in a hug.

Clint groaned. "Ugh. You're so mean."

Natasha chuckled in his ear. "Too bad. You already swore to be my bestest friend forever and ever."

"And ever," Clint finished.

They arrived at Clint's driveway.

"Well, this is me," he said, secretly sad to leave Natasha.

As if she knew exactly what he was thinking, Natasha asked, "wanna walk together tomorrow?"

Clint nodded. "Yeah. See ya tomorrow, Nat."

Natasha wrapped him in another hug. "See you tomorrow, Lil' Hawk." She released him but not before tickling his side a bit. Clint jumped with a squeal, and Natasha laughed. As they parted ways, they waved, never breaking eye contact until they'd both disappeared from the other's sight.

* * *

**[Present Day]**

Clint leaned back in the corner of the passenger seat, studying his best friend. Something was off, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He figured it had something to do with the boy standing near Natasha's car, but he didn't know what it was.

Following the fight, he'd gone off in search of Natasha, but he couldn't find her, so he'd returned to the field to wait for her to either return or text him. Most of the team had left the field once their captain had been ordered to go to the principal's office, but some of his friends were still hanging out on the bleachers. It was there that he got the scoop on Bucky and everything else.

Phil Coulson gave Clint what was likely a heavily-biased account of the history between Bucky and Stark. Clint knew the basics: the accident, the disappearance. He hadn't recognized Bucky at the time, but he slowly started to remember as he listened to the tale.

During the summer before junior year, Clint's father, Harold Barton, had died, forcing his mother to sell the farm and move them to the city. In doing so, Clint was forced to switch schools and start his junior year at Marvel High. It was torture going to school without Natasha, so he was thrilled when she was finally able to join him. Of course, the situation wasn't exactly ideal.

About seven months after his father's death, Natasha's mother had also passed, making Natasha an orphan. While Clint's father had been a mean drunk, Natasha was quite close to her mother, never having met her own father.

Since Harold's death, Clint's mother, Edith, had re-married, this time, to a kind (and wealthy) architect. When Edith had learned of the tragedy, she relayed the news to her husband. In the end, they had welcomed Natasha into their home with open arms as one of their own. As this all happened months before the end of their junior year, it was agreed that Natasha should finish out the year at Lee High School and transfer to Marvel for her senior year.

Now that they were practically brother and sister, Clint had believed that there were no secrets between them, but he couldn't explain Natasha's behavior when Bucky had arrived. So, when Clint had finally gotten a text from Natasha, he'd excused himself even though Phil was only half-way through his story, almost running to her car.

Since then, she'd barely said a word.

And the silence was getting to him.

"Roly poly for your thoughts?" he finally asked, almost choking on the tension in the car.

By that point, they'd pulled into the driveway of their new home. Natasha cut the engine and leaned back with a loud sigh.

"It's been a long day," was her only reply.

"Sure. Sure. How about you cut the bullshit and tell me what's going on."

Natasha closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Ugh. Fine."

Clint waited.

"So, that guy outside my car?"

"Bucky?"

"That's the one. Anyway, he and I kinda dated summer before junior year."

"And you were going to tell me when?"

"I don't know. It's complicated. First, that thing with Harold happened. Then Bucky disappeared. Then my mom. It was just too much. By the time everything was finally settled, I didn't want to re-open anymore wounds, you know?"

Clint nodded. "I get that. Still, you could've told me."

Natasha turned in her seat to face him. "I wanted to, especially after he left, but it seemed selfish with everything happening in your life. I didn't want to be a burden."

Clint reached out and pulled her into an awkward hug, feeling the gear shift digging into his abdomen. "Come on, Nat. You know me better than that. Besides, you could never be a burden. Remember? Bestest friends forever and ever."

Natasha sighed. "And ever, Lil' Hawk."

They stayed like that for a while. When they finally pulled apart, Clint stared pointedly at Natasha. "Now, tell me _everything_."

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "We're Going To Be Friends" - The White Stripes


	10. Chapter 10

**Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours)**

Night had fallen on the second day of the new school year, and the students were all going about their lives throughout the town.

* * *

Loki had taken dinner in his room, but it went untouched as he sat in front of the glowing screen of his computer, recording the events of the day and making the necessary alterations to his plan.

* * *

Immediately after Thor finished his dinner, he'd gone back to making his desperate attempts to get a hold of Jane.

* * *

Bucky was pacing around Steve's room, spilling out his guts to his long-time best friend. He confessed to his relationship with Natasha and his tragic mishandling of it, but Steve was more interested in Bucky's sudden reappearance.

* * *

Tony and Bruce had spent the last few hours working on their Ultron project, but now they were finished and waiting for the Chinese food they'd ordered to arrive. While they waited, Tony decided to hop online.

* * *

After Natasha finished relaying her own story to Clint, they'd both gone inside and were now shut away in their own rooms. Prior to this, Clint had helped Natasha set up her Marvel Media account and navigate the site. As he did so, he relayed his own tale about the history between Stark and Rogers, briefly explaining the importance of the side Clint was on.

Now, Natasha sat in front of the screen staring at a name and the gray dot beside it, signaling the inactive user. She was about to log out and get started on her homework when the gray dot turned green. Natasha paused for a moment to consider the delicacy of the situation, then disregarded it entirely. Before she could stop herself, she clicked on the user and sent a quick message.

* * *

_Ding!_

A message popped up on Tony's Marvel Media profile. He looked. It was from Natasha. Tony glanced over at Bruce, who was walking back from the front door, weighed down by several bags full of take out.

Against his better judgement, he opened the message.

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Hey, Miss Hewitt. (Love Hewitt?) How's the search for Mickey Rourke going? _

Tony chuckled to himself, but then he remembered his recent promise to Bruce. He sighed, looking over at his buddy, who was practically elbow-deep in a little, white carton.

**_T. Stark_**_: Hit a snag, I'm afraid, and my father's out of town, so…whatever his name is, will have to wait. So, Bruce tells me you two are lab partners in Dr. Pym's class. Lucky you. Bruce is ridiculously smart. He has a profile on here, too, in case you didn't know. _

There. He'd talked Bruce up, fulfilling his promise. Tony waited for Natasha's response.

_Ding!_

**_N. Romanoff_**_: I saw. His little light thingy isn't on though, and I see Bruce in class. Plus, you and I didn't get much time to chat…_

Tony read the message and read it again. He looked back over at Bruce who was struggling with his chopsticks. It would be so easy to keep messaging her and keep it to himself. So easy… He'd already kept his promise by talking Bruce up. The more he stared at his buddy, however, the more he knew that those thoughts were wrong.

He sighed. "Man, I hate doing the right thing."

Bruce looked up from his carton. "What?"

"Natasha's finally on M³ (Marvel Media Messaging). She said you weren't online. You might wanna get on that, buddy."

Bruce started choking on his food. Tony waited for his sputtering to turn to stammering. When Bruce was finally capable of speaking somewhat coherently, he put on his glasses and stumbled on over to Tony.

"Hey, now. You can't read our private messages. That's a step too far, buddy. I told you what I needed to tell you, and I talked you up; therefore, I've kept my end of the bargain. Now, you need to get online and talk to her yourself."

"But, but, I don't have my computer. We're at your house."

Tony exhaled, long and deep. "You can use my school laptop. It's in my bag over there," he said, pointing towards the bag. "Just make sure to log out of my account first."

Bruce did as he was instructed, his food practically forgotten. Once the laptop was open and he was logged in, however, he froze. "I…uh…what should I write?"

"No," Tony said, shaking his head. "Nuh-uh. That's where I draw the line. I'm not telling you what to say. That's up to you. If I speak for you and she falls for it, that would be tantamount to her falling for me. And, honestly, this whole mess is already a little too 'teen movie' for me. I'm not going to be your high school Cyrano de Bergerac. Figure it out."

Bruce grumbled under his breath.

"What was that?" Tony asked.

"Nothing," Bruce lied.

Tony rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer, noting the lack of keyboard sounds coming from Bruce's direction.

* * *

Natasha spent several minutes waiting for Tony to respond, growing concerned by the constant wave of the three dots in the text bubble.  
_Ding!_

Natasha stared at the screen in confusion. The little text box was still waving, so Tony hadn't responded. She minimized their chat and saw the "new message" alert next to Bruce's icon.

_Ding!_

Her chat with Tony popped back up with his response.

**_T. Stark_**_: Too true, Grasshopper. Too true. _

Natasha narrowed her eyes. The wait time for such a short response? Bruce's message immediately after Tony brought him up? She minimized her chat with Tony and opened Bruce's message.

**_B. Banner_**_: Hey!_

**_B. Banner_**_: How's it going?_

**_B. Banner_**_: Good, I hope. Except for the leg thing. _

**_B. Banner_**_: I mean, I hope your leg is good. I want it to heal. You need legs._

**_B. Banner_**_: Not to say that legs are a necessity. Plenty of people live complete and fulfilling lives without legs. I'm not an ableist. _

Natasha waited for another message, but none came. She pulled her re-opened her chat with Tony.

**_N. Romanoff_**_: So, you'll never guess who just messaged me. _

**_T. Stark_**_: Mickey Rourke?_

**_N. Romanoff_**_: -_-_

**_N. Romanoff_**_: No. _

**_T. Stark_**_: Jennifer Love Hewitt? 'Cause I called dibs. On you, that is. _

**_T. Stark_**_: Only joking, btw._

**_N. Romanoff_**_: No. Strike 2. _

**_T. Stark_**_: Well, that just leaves Iglesias, but you're Iglesias, so that doesn't make sense. _

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Tony…_

**_T. Stark_**_: What?_

**_T. Stark_**_: Whatever it was, I didn't do it. If I did, you can't prove it. That's my motto. _

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Bruce._

**_T. Stark_**_: No. This is Tony. _

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Is he there with you? _

**_T. Stark_**_: God? Always, except when I'm breathing, of course. _

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Bruce!_

**_T. Stark_**_: No. This is Tony. _

Natasha rolled her eyes and switched back to Bruce's messages.

* * *

Bruce stared intently at the screen, waiting for Natasha's response. With each _ding!_ on Tony's computer, Bruce grew more and more anxious. Was he still messaging Natasha? Was that why she wasn't responding? Too busy? He re-read over his own messages and grimaced.

"Tony?"

"Yeah, buddy," Tony replied, not looking back.

"You don't have to tell me what to say, but can you just read these messages? I think I messed up."

Tony looked back at him with a disapproving glance. "Dude…"

"I know, I know, I know. I'm sorry, but you know I'm not good at this."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Fine but come over here. Don't make me come over there. That's just bad manners."

Bruce joined Tony where he was sitting and grew suspicious when Tony immediately minimized his chat screen with Natasha. Nonetheless, he handed the laptop over to his friend and watched as Tony read the messages. The longer Tony read, the more worried Bruce became.

Finally, Tony turned to Bruce, disappointment etched across his face. "Why are you like this?"

Bruce hung his head, covering his face with both of his hands. "I don't know," he mumbled into his palms.

* * *

_Ding!_

Natasha looked at the two chats side-by-side: her chat with Tony versus her unanswered chat with Bruce. Neither message box had any new messages. She minimized the window.

**_B. Barnes_**_: *1 New Message*_

Natasha eyed the alert with apprehension.

* * *

"She still hasn't responded, Tony. Why hasn't she responded?" Bruce said, his voice getting dangerously high.  
"I don't know, man. Probably cause you scared her off with that barrage of messages," Tony replied, his eyes fixed on his own screen.

_Ding! Ding!_

Next to him, Bruce's head snapped up.

"She replied!"

Tony leaned over to read Natasha's messages to Bruce.

**_N. Romanoff_**_: You're such a goofball. _

**_N. Romanoff_**_: And I think it's very sweet of you to ask. My leg is fine. It was just a little scrape, and I'll probably be sore tomorrow. _

_Ding!  
__**N. Romanoff**__: Good to know you're not an ableist. -Ists and -isms tend to be bad _:)

Tony felt an ugly surge of jealousy in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

After responding to Bruce, Natasha returned to the unopened alert from Bucky. Despite every fiber of her being warning her to let it go, she opened the message.

**_B. Barnes_**_: Natasha, I can't even begin to imagine how you must be feeling. It was never my intention to hurt you. If you can't forgive me, I understand. What I did was inexcusable, but you do deserve an explanation. I owe you that much. Please allow me to do so in person. This isn't the kind of thing I can talk about here. _

Natasha read the message a few times before responding.

* * *

_Ding!_

Bucky was pacing around Steve's room, but the message alert stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Hey, Buck…I think she responded."

"I can't read it," Bucky confessed. "I don't think I can handle it if she says no."

Steve studied him for a moment. "Want me to read it first?"

Bucky nodded.

While Steve read the message, Bucky waited, holding his breath as he did.

"Uh oh," Steve finally said.

Alarmed, Bucky rushed over to the computer. "What?"

Steve backed up slightly, giving Bucky better access to the computer.

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Does your explanation have anything to do with Tony's parents? _

A lump formed in Bucky's throat. Quickly, he typed a reply.

**_B. Barnes_**_: How do you know about that?_

_Ding!_

**_N. Romanoff_**_: That's not exactly a denial._

Bucky tried to send another message, but he received an error message:

[User **N. Romanoff** has blocked all communications from you].

Bucky looked over at Steve, wondering if he looked as hopelessly lost as he felt.

* * *

After blocking Bucky, Natasha was reminded of her chat with Tony by a few incessant _dings! _

**_T. Stark_**_: I'm sorry. That response seemed funny at the time. _

**_T. Stark_**_: *spoiler alert* I use humor to avoid almost everything. _

**_T. Stark_**_: Bruce is my buddy, and I'm probably not supposed to tell you, but he kinda likes you. I was just trying to be a good friend. _

**_T. Stark_**_: If it helps, he's 100% responsible for his own messages. _

**_T. Stark_**_: …I have seen them, though. Don't be too hard on him. He's one of the best guys I know. _

Natasha couldn't help but smile as she read Tony's messages. It was clear he thought the world of Bruce. Between the two, she wasn't sure who was more clueless.

* * *

_Ding! Ding! Ding!_

After the longest few minutes of Tony's short life, Natasha's reply finally came.

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Humor as a defense mechanism? I NEVER would've guessed that… _

**_N. Romanoff_**_: -_-_

**_N. Romanoff_**_: But seriously, you seem like a pretty good friend. _

_Ding!  
__**N. Romanoff**__: And don't worry, I won't tell on you_ ;)

Tony breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

**_T. Odinson_**_: Jane? _

**_T. Odinson_**_: Jane? I know you're online. The little dot thingy is green._

**_T. Odinson_**_: Jane? _

**_T. Odinson_**_: Jane? _

**_T. Odinson_**_: Jane?_

**_T. Odinson_**_: Loki knew you were here. He was just trying to mess with me. _

**_T. Odinson_**_: Please, Jane. _

**_T. Odinson_**_: Jane?_

[User **J. Foster** has left the chat].

"Dammit!"

* * *

_Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!_

**_T. Stark_**_: Did you ever know that you're my hero…_

**_T. Stark_**_: And everything I would like to be?_

**_T. Stark_**_: I can fly higher than an eagle_

**_T. Stark_**_: For you are the wind beneath my wings!_

Natasha tried to feel annoyed. She tried to roll her eyes. She tried to find the joke corny.

Instead, she laughed so loud that she snorted.

And she didn't hear the door open behind her.

* * *

"Natasha? What are you doing?"  
His best friend tried to minimize her chat with Tony Stark as soon as he spoke, but Clint had seen enough. Natasha turned around in her chair, her eyes wide.

"I, uh, um…"

"What the hell, Nat? I thought we talked about this. You can't be talking to Stark."

Natasha went from surprised to angry in a split second. "Excuse me? Since when has it _ever_ been okay for you to tell me who I can and can't talk to, Clint?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Do I?" Natasha asked. "Because you literally just said that I can't."

Clint groaned. "You know that's not what I meant. It's just that, those people are the right people, you know? And there's this whole, big history between him and Steve. There's Stark's people and then there's us."

"You mean Steve Roger's people?" Natasha asked.

Clint heard the edge in her question but proceeded anyway. "Yes."

"As in, Bucky? Bucky Barnes? From what I remember, Bucky is a part of Steve Roger's 'people,' correct?"

Clint couldn't find a response for that, and Natasha seemed to know it.

"So," she continued, "you're suggesting that I get over everything that happened with Bucky just so I can be on the 'right' side of some petty high school feud between two boys I barely know? Am I hearing _that_ right?"

"Nat…"

"Don't 'Nat,' me. Answer me. Am I hearing that right? Did you already forget everything _I_ just told _you_?" Her voice was low—dangerously low. "Huh? I'm sorry to disappoint you, Clint, but I believe in getting to know people based on their own merits instead of taking someone else's word for it…even yours. I would've thought after all these years that you would respect my ability to do so, respect my prerogative."

Clint's arms dropped down to dangle at his sides. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Thanks," she grumbled.

Clint couldn't help but smile. As soon as he'd apologized, Natasha had let go of her anger internally, but she was trying to hide it as she accepted the apology. The result left her looking like an angry puppy.

Behind her, a series of _dings!_ sounded from her computer. Natasha's eyes twitched in that direction.  
She cleared her throat. "Now, if you don't mind, I have several people waiting for me to message them back, not just Tony Stark. So…shoo." She shooed him away with her hands, and he complied.

Still, when Clint was back in his own room with the door shut behind him, he couldn't help but feel a sinking feeling in his gut.

"This isn't going to end well," he told the silence.

* * *

Loki smirked, the glow from his collection of computer screens lighting up his sinister expression despite the darkness of the room around him.

The rootkit worked perfectly.

He leaned back in his chair, finally ready to dine while the once-private M3 message conversations of his classmates were downloaded to his server.

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours)" - Stevie Wonder


	11. Chapter 11

**Whatta Man**

"Natasha, Natasha, Natasha. That's all I've heard about for the last ten chapters. Natasha this and Natasha that. Natashaaaaaaaa-ahhhhhhh! And, frankly, I'm offended. Little Miss Muffet isn't the only fresh blood in town this year.

"Now, I know what your thinking: 'Isn't this a TonyNat/IronWidow fic? Why does the writer keep bringing in new characters?' Well, I have two things to say to that: first, why is Stark's name always first in the ship. I mean, have you seen Natasha Romanoff? I'd let her bite me any day of the week. Besides, whatever happened to equality? I know, I know. I can't just make a lewd comment and then get on a soapbox, but I have news for you: I do what I want, and I want to know why it can't be NatTony (actually…) or WidowIron (okay, I see the problem now). Moving on. Wait…where was I? Oh, yeah. And, second, the writer is a bit coocoo for off-brand coco roos. *Ahem* Spoiler alert.

"And to answer the question you should've asked but didn't, you know, about the disembodied voice of the wackadoo waxing poetic on the main 'heroes' and the irresponsible author behind it all…well, it's me. The other slab of fresh meat this semester. The one, the only—"

"Wade!"

"Dammit, Parker!"

"What are you doing up there? And who are you talking to?"

_Sigh._ "The readers, of course…"

"The what?"

"Awww. Look at my little Petey-Pie, all confused. I've tried to tell him, but he never listens."

"Never mind that, Wade. You gotta get down. The bell's gonna ring soon."

"Welp, you heard him, folks. And since he stole my thunder (totally not _his_ job by the way, so it looks like I found me a little, habitual klepto), let me just say, 'Hi. My name is Wade Wilson. Welcome to Jackass—

"No. You know what, that was stupid with two 'os.' Let me try that again. 'Hi. My name is Wade Wilson, and welcome to chapter eleven of _Marvel High_…Nope! That was dumb, too. Whatever. Screw it. Get ready to cue the non-diegetic chapter title song, 'cause I'm about to jump off of the school roof. Whoo! Let's do this! Maximum effort!"

* * *

Peter watched, his breath caught in his throat, as Wade simply stepped over the edge of the roof and plummeted to the ground. By some manner of luck, Wade landed unscathed.

"How? What? How?" Peter tried to form a coherent thought, but his mind was blown.

"Whoo-hoo! Superhero landing!"

Peter's jaw nearly hit the ground. "How are you…? What in the…? I don't…What…? How…?"

"Slow down there, Itsy Bitsy. How what? How am I this awesome?"

Peter shook his head. "How are you not hurt?!" he finally managed to spit out.

Wade shrugged. "Mmm. I don't know. Lazy writing? And not the response I was expecting. Next time, try showing some awe. 'Cause I'm awe-some. Get it? Heh." He clapped his hands together. "Now, if I remember correctly, you were going on and on about some bells, Quasimodo, so what do you say we get our delicious little rumps to class before they turn into pumpkins? Can the writer do that? Reference two Disney movies at once? That seems just—" Wade continued his stream of consciousness as he turned around and ran smack into another student with a loud "Oof!"

Peter watched both Wade and the other figure, a red head, fall to the ground. "Ohmigod, are you guys okay?"  
"What in the motherforking donkeyballs? Motherforking donkeyballs? What in the frickity frackle snacks? Oh, son of a, see? This is what you get when you limit yourself to a Teen rating. Hello? Are you listening?" Wade shouted into the middle distance, then he turned his attention to the other person on the ground. "You need to watch where I'm going. You can't expect me to…oh, it's you. Because of course, it is. Geez. Convenience, much?"

The red head didn't respond to Wade's barrage of insults and semi-profanity, instead, she just stared at him, a look of incredulity on her face. She turned to Peter, "is he okay?"

Peter shrugged. "No idea. Just met him a few weeks before school started, but I have my reservations."

From the ground, Wade scoffed. "Sure, Aragog. Now, why don't you and your reservations help me up? I just jumped off of a roof. That was enough effort for the day."

Peter extended a hand to both fallen students. The red head accepted the help immediately, but Wade's eyes narrowed.

"On second thought, I might have a bit more effort in me after all." Wade flailed around while he tried to pull himself to his feet.

While Wade was struggling, Peter handled introductions. "I'm sorry about all that. I'm Peter. Peter Parker."

_("Yeah, okay, James Bond.")_

Continuing to ignore Wade, the red head shook Peter's hand. "Thanks. It's really no problem. I'm—"

Wade groaned, finally standing upright. "Natasha Romanoff. We know! They know! Everyone knows!"

"I didn't know," Peter added, mostly to an alarmed-looking Natasha. "Is he right?"

She nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on Peter's foul-mouthed friend.

Wade eyed Natasha's and Peter's hands, which were still intertwined. "Did you know that male spiders reproduce by secreting sperm into their webs using their pedipalps? Pedipalps are kinda like their arms. Just sayin'," he added, peering closer at Peter's spotless hand.

"What is he talking about?" Natasha asked.

Peter shook his head. "I never know."

"Um, okay, well, this was…something." With that, Natasha turned and practically fled inside.

Once she was gone, Wade turned back to Peter. "Was it something I said?"

* * *

"That's it? That's all you're going to give them for my intro? Geez…I was kidding earlier about the lazy writing, but this? This is messed up, like, shoehorning my character into an MCU-inspired fanfiction story when I haven't even been in the MCU yet, level of messed up. And then you didn't even do anything with it? What was even the point?

"You know what? I know what you are…you're a damn tease. This was the literary equivalent of foreplay, and you know it. I hope the readers revolt. You'd deserve it. Gah! I can't believe I got all dressed up for this.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going? Come back! Come back here, now! Don't make me come over there! Walking away isn't going to help. Oh look, she isn't even going to edit this thing. Are you deliberately trying to hurt me? Come on, you're making me feel cheap!

"Fine! Keep walking. But, just so you know, this is why people hate you!

"GET. BACK. HERE. NOW!"

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Whatta Man" - Salt-N-Peppa (ft. En Vogue)


	12. Chapter 12

**We Will Rock You**

**[Wednesday – First Week of School]**

The second they stepped through the front doors, Peter lost sight of Wade. While he didn't exactly know why the somewhat deranged sophomore was always hanging around him, Wade's absence was certainly noticeable and, if Peter was being honest with himself, missed. Suddenly, Peter felt utterly alone, even as he was practically being crushed by the horde of students that filled the hallways. As he got pushed this way and that, Peter looked around helplessly, searching for a familiar face that might save him from being trampled. He smiled in relief when his sights landed on Ned.

"Peter! Hey!" Ned shouted over the din.

"Hey!"

Ned shouted something else, but Peter couldn't make it out. Ned seemed to notice this and pointed over to the water fountain. Slowly but surely, both boys fought their way through the mass of students until they'd each arrived at the fountain.

"Oh, man. It's crazy here."

Peter nodded, eyes wide. "I know, man. For a minute there, I thought I was a goner."

"Pfft. Yeah. I thought that pretty much everyone would be in class by now. The first bell rang a minute or so ago. And the second bell rings in," Ned checked his watch, "like, three and a half minutes."

"So, uh, want to try and wait it out a bit longer? The gym is just down the hall, and Coach Wilson seems like a cool dude."

Ned's head bobbed up and down so violently that his cheeks jiggled a bit.

Neither Peter nor Ned bothered talking over the chaos while they waited for the crowd to thin out. When the coast was partially clear, they began to make their way towards the gym.

"Did you hear about the fight?"

Peter and Ned jumped at the sudden appearance of the girl known only as MJ.

"When did she get here?" Ned asked.

Peter shrugged, his mouth hanging slightly open. He shook his head and closed his mouth. "What-what fight?" he asked, swallowing hard.

"Last night after school. Stark and some guy who disappeared for a year. Everybody's talking about it." MJ's tone implied the missing yet obvious "duh."

"Stark? As in Tony Stark?" Peter asked.

"Yup," MJ replied. "I thought you would've known."  
"Why?"

"Aren't you obsessed with him?"

Peter's eyes went wide. "Obsessed? I am not obsessed with him. I am not obsessed with Tony Stark. Why would I be obsessed with Tony Stark. I am _not_ obsessed with Tony Stark."

MJ pursed her lips. "Mhmm. Sure."

"I'm not!"

They'd approached the gym doors. MJ peeled off from their little group and headed towards the girl's locker room. With her back to them, she threw up one arm in the air—a lazy, little wave. "Uh-huh. Yep. See ya."

Peter and Ned watched her disappear through the giant double doors.

"She is so weird," Ned said, finally breaking the silence.

Peter nodded in agreement. "Yeah. And I am so not obsessed with Tony Stark."  
"Well, I mean, she _was_ right about that," Ned argued, ignoring Peter's protests. "What I wanna know is how she knew that."

Peter huffed. "Whatever, man. Let's just get changed."

* * *

**[Friday – First Week of School]**

The bell rang, signally the start of lunch. His first week of high school was almost over, and Peter was finally starting to feel like a real high schooler.

Today was special, though.

A week ago, during freshman orientation, Ned had nominated Peter for class representative. Today, in just a few minutes, he was going to give his speech. Public speaking had never been Peter's forte, and he was starting to feel a bit queasy.

"Sup, man," Ned greeted Peter as they met outside the cafeteria. "You ready?"

Peter groaned. "I-uh-I'm not so sure about this."

"Come on, man. You got this."

Ned clapped Peter on the back. Peter stumbled forward and ended up crashing into the back of another student. The other student turned around, and Peter found himself face-to-face with Tony Stark. Peter froze.

"Hey kid. You might wanna watch where you're going."

Silence.

"You hear me, kid?"

Silence.

Tony Stark turned to Ned. "Is he…eh?" Tony gestured vaguely at his head, possibly asking if Peter was injured, deaf, or just plain dumb.

"He's sorry, Mr. Stark. I mean, Mr. Tony…er, uh…Stony. Nope. That's not right," Ned rambled.

"Woah, woah, kid. Cool it. It's all good. Accidents happen. I'm not gonna lose it 'cause some kid tripped. We're good." Tony looked back over at Peter. "Although, I don't think I can say the same for your friend. He doesn't look so good. You might wanna have him sit down or something. He actually looks a bit sick. Maybe take him to see Nurse Parker, okay?"

"Parker!" Peter suddenly shouted. His eyes went wide when he realized what he'd done. Quickly, he continued, "Peter Parker. Me. Peter Parker is me." He shook his head. "I am Peter Parker," he finished, pointing to himself.

Tony looked between Peter and Ned, then behind him at his small group of friends, all of whom were likewise watching the situation with mild alarm. He turned back to Ned. "Yeah, okay. This has been a real…I don't wanna say 'nightmare, 'cause that seems harsh…but it was definitely on the wrong side of weird."  
Peter and Ned just stared.

Tony Stark was starting to look uncomfortable. "Yeah. I'm gonna go now." He turned and followed his friends into the cafeteria.

When they were gone, Peter collapsed against the wall. He slid down until he was sitting on the floor, ignoring the stares from other students.

"Kill me now," he groaned.

Ned reached down to him in an effort to pull him up. "Come on, now. It wasn't _that _bad."

Peter glared.

"Okay," Ned amended. "It was horrible, but on the bright side, it can't get any worse."

Peter threw up his hands in exasperation. "How, Ned? How could it not get any worse? I am literally about to go up in front of everyone—including Tony Stark—and give a speech. Maybe I _should_ go see Aunt May."  
Peter jumped up and started off in the direction of the nurse's office, but Ned snagged his arm, pulling him back.

"Oh no you don't. What I meant was, that whole thing that just happened, was literally your worst nightmare. You know, embarrassing yourself so horribly in front of your teen idol."

"Thanks, Ned."

"Shut-up. No. Basically, if you survived that, you can survive giving a speech to a bunch of people you don't know or care about."

Peter glared at Ned again but broke the stare to glance nervously at the entrance to the cafeteria. He tried to calculate how fast he'd need to run and at which angle, in order to dodge Ned's grasp and make a clean getaway.

"Come on," Ned continued. "You know I'm right."

After a long moment, Peter sighed. "Fine."

* * *

Peter waited outside of the classroom where the upperclassmen were counting ballots. Ned stood by his side, occasionally offering words of support.

The door opened, and Mr. Fury stepped out.

"Just because I'm the damn political science teacher…who said I wanted to be the faculty advisor on…if I find out who volunteered me for this…" Mr. Fury grumbled under his breath as he walked away.

When he'd turned the corner, the door opened again, and Steve Rogers emerged.

"Oh, hey," he said once he saw them. "Peter Parker, right?"

"Yep. That's me."

"Looks like you won. Congrats."

Peter turned to Ned. He felt like his eyes were about to pop out of his skull. "Oh-woah."

Ned offered up a high five. "Way to go, man!"

Peter returned the high five and turned back to Steve Rogers. "So, uh, do I come in or…?"

Steve Rogers shook his head. "No. Not today. We still have to get in touch with the other winner. You'll both report on Monday after school."

Peter grabbed Steve Roger's hand and started to furiously shake it. "Okay. Sure. No problem. I'll be there. I promise I won't let you down."

When Steve Rogers pulled his hand out of Peter's tight grasp, he laughed awkwardly. "I'm sure you'll be fine, kid."

"You, too."

Steve Rogers's eyebrows knit together in confusion, but he simply nodded and disappeared back inside.

Peter watched him go as it dawned on him what he'd just said. "Did I just tell Steve Rogers that he'll be fine and then call him a kid."  
"Yup," Ned replied.

"Do you think he noticed?"  
"Nah."

"Liar."

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "We Will Rock You" - Queen


	13. Chapter 13

**We're Not Gonna Take It**

**[Friday – First Week of School]**

Carol Danvers stepped out onto the football field. She was followed closely by Maria Rambeau and Valkyrie Brunn. The moment they did, several confused pairs of eyes turned in their direction.

"Hey! You can't be here!" Coach Wilson shouted from the other side of the field.

He started walking in their direction, but Steve Rogers got there first.

"Hey, ladies," he said with his trademark charming grin. "We're about to start practice, so you can't really be on the field right now. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Oh, we know," Carol replied. "That's what we're here for. Practice."

For a moment, Steve seemed stumped. "But this is football practice…"

"And?" Maria asked, clearly baiting him.

"And you're not on the team," Steve answered. From his tone, it was clear he thought his reasoning was obvious, and—to him, at least—it was.

"Mhmm. Sure. For now, anyway," Valkyrie said.

"For now?"

"Yes," Carol interjected. "For now. But with this," she held up a slip of paper, "that's all about to change."

Steve reached for the paper, but Carol pulled it back, just out of his reach. By this point, Coach Wilson had made it over to them.

"Ladies, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask that you exit the field. If you want to watch, you may do so from the bleachers, okay?" He pointed to the set of bleachers nearby where a few students were watching them with curious stares.

"We're not here to watch," Carol said.

"We're here to try out," Valkyrie continued.

"And you have to let us," Maria finished.

Coach Wilson squinted at each one of them as they spoke.

"I don't _have_ to let you do anything," he finally said.

"Oh, I'm afraid you do," Valkyrie replied.

Carol stepped forward, holding the paper up for Coach Wilson to see. "Because of this," she said.

Coach Wilson took the slip of paper and read it. As he did, his jaw went a little slack and his eyebrows knit together.

"Huh…" was all he could say.

* * *

**[July – A Few Months Earlier]**

"But I don't want to play football," Maria said, practically whining.

Carol frowned. "Yeah? Well, neither do I, but we made promises—promises I have every intention of keeping."

Maria continued on. "I don't get it. Why do we have to suffer just cause one girl wants to join the team. Miss Whatshername? This Valerie…. Valkyrie?"

"Solidarity," Carol answered. "And it's Valkyrie, by the way."

"But—" Maria started.

"But nothing. She wants to play football. The coach and the team wouldn't let her try out last summer before her freshman year, and they wouldn't let her try out last week either. They're refusing to take her interest seriously. It will be harder for them to ignore all three of us. I mean, of course I'm going to try and recruit a few others, but three will be sufficient for now."

Maria clenched her jaw together. "If they won't take her seriously," she grunted through gritted teeth, "then what makes you think they'll take the three of us seriously."

Carol smirked. "I'm glad you asked."

* * *

**[Present Day]**

"I don't…I don't get it. What is this?" Coach Wilson asked.

Steve Rogers snatched the piece of paper out of the coach's grasp and read it himself.

"It's an order from the school board stating that you are legally required to let anyone try out for football. For the past two summers, you have denied that right to Ms. Brunn, here, so we decided to take matters into our own hands," Carol explained.

"But this is football," Coach Wilson protested, his voice sounding as lost and confused as he looked. "Girls can't play football."

Carol looked back at Maria and Valkyrie. Both girls were frowning, and each had an eyebrow raised. She turned back to the coach.

"I'm going to give you a moment to think about what you just said and, better yet, a chance to apologize for your blatant sexist comment."

Coach Wilson's mouth opened and closed but nothing came out.

Steve interceded on his behalf. "I'm sure no offense was intended, Carol. What Coach meant to say, if I may be so bold, is that this team has traditionally been all-male. This isn't exactly touch football. It can be very dangerous, and there is an undeniable difference between males and females. It just wouldn't be safe. You understand, don't you?"

"No," Carol said, shaking her head. "I don't think I do."

"Me either," Maria added.

Valkyrie just stared him down, her eyes tightening at the corners.

"Besides," Carol continued, "it doesn't really matter what you think. And even if it did, you're still painfully wrong." She raised her hand into the air, beckoning to some unseen entity.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a small group of teenagers in black and purple letterman jackets marched out onto the field. There were eight in all: four boys and four girls. Leading the pack was T'Challa, captain of the Panthers and a senior at Wakanda Prep.

"Carol!" T'Challa greeted upon arrival. "It is good to see you again. How are you?" He extended a hand, which she shook.

"I'm well, and yourself?"

"Good. Good. I cannot complain. And you Maria? Valkyrie? I hope you both are also well."

Maria and Valkyrie nodded.

"Good. So," T'Challa said, turning to Coach Wilson and Steve Rogers, "I hear you have some reservations about allowing females on your team. When I heard this, I thought it was a joke. My team and I all had a great laugh. Did we not?" he asked, addressing the seven teens behind him. They nodded in agreement, but there was not a trace of humor in their expressions, especially on the faces of the girls. "Ah, how rude of me. Allow me to introduce my co-captain of the Wakanda Prep Panthers. Gentlemen, this is Okoye," T'Challa announced, gesturing towards one of the girls.

The girl stepped forward. Between her shaved head and her stoic expression, it wasn't surprising when Coach Wilson stepped back a bit, eyes wide. This Okoye was certainly an intimidating sight to behold. Without a word, she nodded her head in one, short movement—the briefest and most detached greeting possible. She stepped out of the way as T'Challa continued his introductions.

"And this is Nakia, Ayo, and my younger sister, Shuri. They were also surprised to hear that Marvel High would not allow female students to try out for the team. Shuri insisted on coming with us today, because she could not believe that it was true. Is that correct, sister?"

"Yes, brother. That is correct." Shuri's mouth tightened into a thin line, but there was a light dancing in her eyes. She was enjoying this.

"If it is not already clear, Nakia, Ayo, and Shuri are also on the team. All of them, including Okoye, are vital members. In fact, I think Okoye's record is one of the best in the state. Okoye?"

Okoye's mouth tilted slightly upwards at one of the corners in a knowing smirk. "Admitting to that would be like bragging, captain."

T'Challa and Okoye shared a secretive look.

"Well, then," T'Challa continued, "allow me to confirm it for you."

Okoye nodded in consent.

T'Challa turned back to the coach and the Marvel High students. "Nearly half of the starting players on our team are female. Each member, regardless of gender, is afforded the opportunity to try out for the team. Those who make it, do so because of their merit, their ability, and their work ethic. Each student is judged on these factors and nothing else. It is a shame that this is not also the case at Marvel High. Then again, maybe we at Wakanda Prep have different values."

T'Challa turned to address the other Marvel High students. "If any female wishes to play and is not permitted to do so at this school, they are more than welcome to do so at Wakanda Prep. My mother, Principal Ramonda, has already agreed to offer full scholarships to anyone in this situation."

He lowered his voice once more, this time, directing his speech specifically at Coach Wilson and Steve Rogers. "Do not be fooled by your antiquated views. You might be surprised. I am confident in each and everyone of my teammates, especially Okoye, Nakia, Ayo, and Shuri. I would not recommend underestimating them in our upcoming game at the end of the month, as interesting as that would be to watch. And I would also not recommend underestimating these young women here. Because if _you _will not give them a chance, _we _will and, furthermore, we will make you regret it."

With that, T'Challa gave a short head nod and turned away. Coach Wilson and the Marvel High students watched the Panthers march back the way they came. When they were gone, Coach Wilson turned back to Carol to find her smiling serenely at him.

"Oh! By the way," she said, her expression too innocent to be genuine, "if you refuse to let us try out, we've informed the school board that we will be seeking a court injunction on the grounds of discrimination. Needless to say, the board has agreed to assist us if you do not comply."

Coach Wilson seemed to be having difficulty speaking, so Steve stepped in. "Of course. That won't be necessary. We will most certainly comply with the school board order, but don't expect us to go easy on you. We can't guarantee a starting position this far into the season since we've been training all summer. We can't even guarantee a spot on the team. First, you must make it through the same tryouts that each member of the team did, and then we'll go from there. Does that sound fair?"

Carol, Maria, and Valkyrie all nodded.

Steve clapped his hands together. "Great. Let's get started. If you'll just—"

"Wait!" a voice called out.

The little huddle turned in the direction of the bleachers. The players around them followed their gaze. A girl with curly, red hair had made her way down the steps and was now jogging over to them.

"Yes?" Steve asked once Natasha Romanoff came to a stop in front of them.

"I want to try out, too."

A few more voices rang out and everyone turned back to the bleachers to see Gamora, her sister Nebula, and another senior named Maria Hill jogging towards them.

"We want to try out, too," Maria Hill said, motioning to herself and the two sisters. Gamora and Nebula nodded in agreement.

"Okay! Hold it! Hold it!" Coach Wilson interrupted. "This is too much. We've missed quite a bit of practice already and it would take too long to get everything set up for a tryout session. If you ladies are serious, you can show up here at 8am tomorrow, and we'll have tryouts then. Okay?"

Everyone nodded.

"Fan-freaking-tastic! Now, can all y'all please get off my damn field so we can get back to our regularly scheduled programming? It's September. The sun isn't going to stay up forever, and we have a practice to get on with."

The players returned to the field, while the girls left as requested, except none of them returned to the bleachers. Instead, they followed Carol, Maria, and Valkyrie. When she noticed they were being followed, Carol turned around.

"Yes?"

"Hi," the red head smiled. "I'm Natasha Romanoff. I just wanted to say that I was really impressed with how you handled that. It was really inspiring."

"Thanks."

"You have a plan, though, right? For making it through the tryouts?" Natasha asked.

"Yeah. We've been preparing all summer. Why?"

Natasha looked down at her feet. "I'm in pretty good shape, but I was wondering if you could help me with what to expect tomorrow. Maybe teach me a little bit about football?"

Carol looked over at Maria and Valkyrie, then back at Natasha and the other girls. "Sure. I don't see why not. We girls gotta stick together, right?"

Natasha smiled. "Right."

They all went silent for a moment, each girl consumed by the feeling that something was happening—something new, exciting, and special.

Carol smiled warmly at each one of them, overcome by a strange sense of pride.  
"All right," she said. "Let's do this!"

* * *

**A/N**: My knowledge of football is limited. Please forgive me...

***Song Inspiration**: "We're Not Gonna Take It" - Twisted Sister


	14. Chapter 14

**Smile (pt. 1)**

Natasha stepped out into the night with a smile on her face. After spending the last few hours watching videos of football tryouts and training on YouTube in Carol's crowded room, the crisp autumn air felt nice against Natasha's warm skin. Getting to know the other girls had been nice, but she welcomed the quiet calm of a long drive home.

Natasha practically skipped down the walkway towards her car, which was parked on the street next to the curb. She took once last deep breath before sliding into the driver's seat. That's when it happened: her stomach growled. It was a loud, unmistakable sound, reminding her just how long it had been since lunch. She'd texted Clint earlier to let him know that she probably wouldn't be home in time for dinner. Natasha's stomach growled again.

"Alright, already! I'll get a burger on the way home. Just be quiet. Geez."

Natasha started the car and pulled away from the curb. Carol's house was only a mile or so from the school. If her memory proved correct, there was a fast-food burger joint a few blocks from Marvel High, and it was on the way home, too.

A few minutes later, Natasha pulled into the Burger King drive thru. After she'd given her order and waited in line, she drove up to the window to pay and collect her meal. When she pulled up, however, two things happened.

First, the lady at the window told her a mistake had been made and directed Natasha to pull around and park in front_. "Someone will bring your order out to you," _she'd said.

Second, just as Natasha was following the lady's instructions and pulling forward, she thought she caught sight of a familiar face. Natasha's suspicions were confirmed when she drove around the building and pulled into a parking spot out front. It was there in that parking spot, parallel to a large window, that Natasha had a perfect view into the restaurant.

And of Tony Stark.

Natasha was surprised to see him sitting there, at a table in the corner, bent over a pile of books and papers, totally alone at 7:23pm on a Friday night.

At 7:24, Natasha got an idea. She pulled out her phone, opened the mobile M3 app, and sent Tony a message.

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Do you know a good burger joint? I just got a craving. _

As she waited for his reply, Natasha watched Tony carefully, her eyes occasionally drifting back to the app, watching for the exact moment when the message was received.

It didn't take long—it was less than two minutes, in fact, before Tony checked his phone. Natasha watched as he read the message, look around and then back at the phone. Several minutes passed. The lady came out with Natasha's order, and Tony still hadn't replied. The little dot by Tony's name was green and her message was now marked "read." _What is taking him so long?_ Natasha was about to march inside and find out, or maybe just drive away, when her phone buzzed.

**_T. Stark_**_: Well, good is subjective. Me? I'm partial to Burger King. _

Natasha grinned.

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Burger King? Hmm. That sounds pretty good. And they have a drive thru, right? _

Natasha grabbed her bag and stepped out of the car. Her phone buzzed again.

**_T. Stark_**_: Yeah. The one by school does, for sure. _

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Good to know. Thanks. _

She opened the door, careful to enter in a way that she could remain unseen until the opportune moment. Her phone buzzed a third time.

**_T. Stark_**_: So, uh, you heading that way now?_

Instead of responding, she pocketed the phone and crept up behind Tony. Natasha waited until she was standing directly behind him. For a moment, she watched with a smile on her face as Tony stared at his phone.

Then she stepped to the side and asked, "Why? Did you miss me?"

Tony jumped at the sound of her voice. "Woah! Geez! What the…oh, Natasha, hey! Why are you, er, how are you here? I mean, uh, hi?"

"You okay there?"

Tony's hand rested over his chest as he tried to calm down. "Yeah. No. I'm good. You just surprised me is all."

Natasha gestured towards the door. "I can go, if you'd like."

"No!" Tony shouted. "I mean…you don't have to…not if you don't want." He cleared his throat. "What I mean to say is, you're more than welcome to stay and join me…if you want."

Without hesitation, Natasha slid into the seat opposite Tony. They sat in silence for a bit while Tony collected himself.

"So," he said, "when you messaged me, you were…?" he pointed in the general direction of the parking lot.

"Yup."

He frowned, not quite making eye contact. "So that means…?"

Natasha couldn't help but smirk. "Yup."

Tony's tongue was pressed against the inside of his cheek, forming a slight bump just above his jawline. Finally, "that was mean."

"Sorry," Natasha said with a smile.

Tony's eyes narrowed. Now that his breathing and speech were back to normal, he didn't seem too upset.

"Liar," he said.

Natasha was about to protest when she spotted the playful gleam in his eye.

"Harsh but fair," she replied. "Does this mean you didn't miss me?"

"What?"

"I asked if you missed me."

Tony looked confused for a moment as he tried to recall when she'd asked him that. Then realization dawned on him.

"Ah! That must've been when you were trying to give me a heart attack. Mhmm. Easy to miss during a time like that, don't ya think?"

Natasha made a _tsk_-ing noise. "Excuses, excuses." She opened her to-go bag and unloaded the contents while Tony watched.

"Damn. Five cheeseburgers?" he marveled. "A woman after my own heart."

Natasha snorted. "More like heart attack. This is one of those moments when my eyes were bigger than my stomach. Want one? Or two?"

Tony shook his head. "I couldn't possibly…"

"It's no big deal. You'd be doing me a favor, really. I don't want to make myself sick. Got a big day tomorrow," she said, sliding two cheeseburgers across the table.

Natasha tore the wrapper off one of the remaining burgers and took a huge bite. After a moment's hesitation, Tony hesitantly undid the wrapper of his own burger.

"If I eat this, technically you bought me dinner," he mused.

With her mouth full, Natasha couldn't respond, so she opted for questioning him with her eyes.

"And I just want you to know," he continued, "that I don't put out on the first date."

Natasha stopped chewing for a fraction of a second before suppressing her surprise. He was clearly messing with her.

_Of course, he doesn't think this is a date. _

She finished chewing, swallowed, and took another bite, letting the silence between them become awkward.

After Tony stewed in his own discomfort long enough, he laughed. "I was just kidding about that, by the way."

Natasha paused, raising her eyebrow.

"I would totally put out on the first date," Tony joked, "but only cause it's you."

Natasha stared at him until he started to squirm, then went back to eating her cheeseburger.

"I-I gotta say, it's hard to get a read on you," Tony finally admitted.

Having finished the first cheeseburger, Natasha crumpled up the wrapper and shoved it in the open bag. She wiped her hands on a napkin, making sure to take her time. She was enjoying Tony's superficial anguish.

"I'm an open book. Ask me anything," she finally said.

"Anything?" he asked.

Natasha nodded.

Tony appeared to mull this offer over for a bit. "You said you had plans tomorrow. What's the occasion? Lots of homework, going out of town, big date, family stuff, insert other examples here so you don't notice that I asked if you were going on a date…you know, things like that?"

A smile tugged at one corner of Natasha's mouth, but she fought to keep her expression neutral.

"Nope. No date," she said, taking pity on him, "…for now, anyway."

Tony nodded. "Cool, cool."

Natasha unwrapped a second cheeseburger. "I have football tryouts tomorrow," she said casually.

Tony stopped his distracted head nodding. "Football tryouts?"

"Mhmm," she mumbled, her mouth full of cheeseburger.

"Huh. I was not expecting that."

Natasha swallowed. "Why? Is it because I'm a girl?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Natasha looked at him thoughtfully. "Well, the coach and the players seem to think that girls—myself included—have no business on the team."

Tony waved his hand. "Pfft. Screw 'em." He leaned forward. "I don't know what other girls you're talking about, but you want to know the first thing that crossed my mind the very first time I saw you?"

"Um…that's gonna leave a mark?" she guessed, referring to her fall on the bleachers.

Tony shook his head. "No. I saw you before that. At lunch."

Slowly, Natasha set her cheeseburger down, waiting intently for Tony to continue.

"I watched you walk in, and I was immediately enthralled by how you carried yourself. You moved with confidence, determination, self-assurance. I won't pretend to know much about you, but everything I've learned so far has only reinforced that initial opinion. You are, without a doubt, one of the most competent young women I've ever met. If you say that you're capable of playing football, then I believe you."

"Wow, Tony, that was incredibly insightful...a tad cheesy, sure, but also sweet."

"Yeah, well, I am—on occasion—not a total idiot," he said with a self-deprecating grin.

"I doubt that," she teased.

Tony's hands flew to his heart. "Natasha, you wound me."

Even though she laughed, her next words were said with utter sincerity. "I doubt you're a total idiot more than just occasionally," she clarified. "Don't get me wrong, you're a nerd, but I can see that you're an old soul no matter how hard you try to hide with all of your jokes and seemingly endless charm."

"So, what you're saying, is that you think I'm charming?"

"And you just proved my point…nerd."

They took their time, eating and joking, talking about anything and everything. An hour passed and then two, and Natasha finally realized how late it was after looking around to see the restaurant devoid of customers. She pulled out her phone to check the time and was met with a barrage of messages from Clint and several missed calls.

(7:38) **Clint**: _When are you getting back?_

(7:52) **Clint**: _Hellooooo?_

(8:13) **Clint**: _If you don't text me back soon, I'm going to read your diary._

(8:14) **Clint**: _And don't say you don't keep a diary._

(8:47) **Clint**: _So, apparently, you don't keep a diary. Also, your room was like that when I went in. _

(9:03) **Clint**: _Nat, where the hell are you? _

(9:15) **Clint**: _Seriously, Nat, why aren't you answering my texts or calls. We're getting worried._

(9:53) **Clint**: _Nat! If you don't text or call in the next five minutes, my mom is going to call the cops! We're freaking out. _

She looked at the time and the time stamp of last message.

"Crap!"

"Everything okay?" Tony asked.

"Uh…one sec."

Natasha pressed the dial button by Clint's name. He answered after just one ring.

"Natasha! What the hell? Where are you? Are you okay? Who are you with? Are you hurt? What's going on?"

"Clint! Clint! Calm down."

"I AM CALM!" he shouted.

Natasha waited silently.

"Ahem. I may have freaked out a little," he said after a moment.

"You think?"

"Just a little."

Natasha sighed. "Well, to answer your many, many questions: I'm at Burger King. Yes, I'm okay. No, I'm not hurt. Tony's here. We got to talking, and we just lost track of time. I'm sorry." She realized, too late, that mentioning Tony in this instance was probably a bad idea. She closed her eyes, hoping he hadn't noticed.

"Tony? Tony…Stark?"

Natasha winced. "Yeah."

There was a stretch of silence, then, "oh," followed by another stretch. Finally, "I guess I'll see you when you get home."

"Clint, I—" Natasha started, but she saw the screen flash on her phone. She pulled the device away from her ear, and her stomach immediately twisted into knots.

"He hung up on me," she said, her voice sounding small to her own ears. She looked up at Tony. "He's never hung up on me before."

Tony offered her a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry."

Natasha swallowed past the lump forming in her throat. "Yeah…me too." She sighed. "I guess I gotta head home. It was nice talking to you."

"Yeah. Same."

Natasha grabbed her things and slid out of the booth. "See ya."

"Yeah..."

Natasha held back the tears threatening to fall until she was safe inside her car and the doors were locked, then she cried the whole way home.

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Smile" - Uncle Kracker


	15. Chapter 15

**Sisters Are Doin' It for Themselves**

When Natasha pulled into the school parking lot the next morning, she wasn't surprised she was the first one there. It was 7:03am, and the sun was just rising over the horizon, painting the sky with a kaleidoscope of colors, but Natasha couldn't bring herself to enjoy the natural beauty of nature. Her mind was plagued by the events of the night before and the morning of the tryouts.

Natasha had forced herself to stop crying before she'd gone inside where she was immediately confronted by Edith, but when she looked around, Clint was nowhere to be seen. After a long lecture and many tearful hugs from Edith, Natasha went upstairs to find Clint's door closed. When she knocked, she received no response. Clint's door was still closed when Natasha woke the next morning, but his car was gone by the time she'd made it downstairs. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, Clint's behavior still hurt her.

To avoid focusing on it, Natasha busied herself with preparations for the day's tryouts. She pulled her old gym bag out of the back of her closet and stuffed it with gear, including two water bottles and a few power bars from the kitchen. Natasha's prior athletic activities were limited strictly to dancing and running, so her clothing had been an issue until Carol had lent her a pair of athletic shorts.

Once she was sure she had everything she needed in her bag, Natasha got dressed. She donned the borrowed shorts over a pair of knee-length leggings, selected the sturdiest sports bra she had in her possession, and practically wrestled her arms and torso into a skin-tight, sweat-wicking racerback. In an effort to keep her wild curls out of the way, Natasha weaved her red hair into a tight French braid, allowing it to fall down her back. She double-checked and tripled-checked that she was ready to go before slipping into her cross-trainers and heading out the door.

Even though the tryouts wouldn't start for almost another hour, Natasha couldn't stand the thick silence in the house. It was suffocating her. In all the years she'd known Clint, they'd never fought—at least not like this. And when they did have fights of any kind, it was never her fault, although, she still couldn't understand why she was accepting this as her fault. Regardless of the reason, the effect made the house feel claustrophobic. She wanted out of there as soon as possible.

And that was how Natasha found herself sitting in the school's empty parking lot at 7:03am just as the sun was starting its daily climb into the sky.

When she couldn't sit any longer, Natasha begrudgingly climbed out of her car, shouldered her duffle bag, and marched out onto the empty field. She found a spot near the bleachers and started getting ready for her own warm-ups.

About half-way through, Carol arrived dragging Maria with her, and Valkyrie appeared a few moments later. It took Natasha a second to realize that Carol was talking to her. She'd popped in earbuds and was listening to music during her warm-up but had greeted the other girls with a small wave, so she jumped a bit when Carol tapped her on the shoulder.

"Sorry, what?" Natasha asked, pulling the earbud out.

Carol's head jerked backwards, and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a chuckle. "I am so sorry. I didn't realize you had those in."

"You're good. I probably should've taken them out when I saw you walking up. That's on me," Natasha said, desperate to take the blame.

They both laughed awkwardly.

"So, um, what were you saying?" Natasha asked.

"Oh, I was just going to give you these." Carol dug a plastic bag out of her own duffle bag and handed it to Natasha.

Inside the plastic bag, there was a box. Inside the box, Natasha found a pair of brand-new cleats. She looked up at Carol.

"You mentioned that you were gonna wear cross-trainers since you didn't have any cleats. I know a store that stays open late and went and got 'em for you last night. They should fit. I snuck a peek at your shoe size when you were at my house last night. I hope that's okay. I mean, you probably can't wear them today, but you'll have 'em for when you make the team."

"That's incredibly kind, but I can't accept these."

"Why not?" Carol asked.

Natasha stared at her incredulously. "Because they're probably way too expensive. Besides, what if I don't make the team. You heard the captain. There aren't any guarantees."

"Pfft. First, you're going to make the team, so don't even think like that," Carol said. "Second, they were on sale. It's not a big deal. I'm not going to take them back unless there's an issue with them. If you don't like it, good luck finding the receipt. And third, I meant what I said about us girls sticking together. I got your back, Romanoff."

Natasha searched every inch of Carol's face, looking for some sign that this was too good to be true, but it never came.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

Carol laughed. "Yes. I'm sure."

Natasha turned the shoes over in her hand, examining them, then she plopped down on the ground and started taking her cross-trainers off.

"I wouldn't wear them today, though," Carol said.

"Why not?"

"They're new. They're going to be stiff. If you try to wear them doing something like this for the first time, you probably won't be able to walk tomorrow," Carol replied.

Natasha grinned. "Oh, I don't think that's going to be a problem."

Years of ballet training had prepared Natasha for an occasion such as this. She pulled a lighter out of her purse, which had been jammed into her duffle bag. She also grabbed one of the water bottles and a roll of toe tape. Carol, Maria, and Valkyrie watched as Natasha settled into the automatic process of breaking in new shoes. When she finally stepped into the cleats, Natasha was confident that they would be perfect.

By the time Carol was leading their small group through football-related warm-ups, other people were starting to arrive. Players, on-lookers, and finally Coach Wilson. He looked less than pleased to be there and kept grumbling about losing more time that could be spent preparing for the homecoming game at the end of the month. When 8am came, the coach blew into the shrill whistle around his neck, signaling the beginning of tryouts, and everyone fell into line.

"Okay! Tryouts: take two," Coach Wilson shouted. "Here's how this is going to go. We're going to start with some basic warm-ups. Then were going to move forward with a speed assessment followed by endurance testing. For those who pass that round, y'all gonna do some drills. The drills are going to test your hand/eye coordination, upper and lower body strength, balance, footwork, blah, blah, blah. If I cut you during any portion of the tryouts, I better not hear any backtalk.

"Given the nature of this tryout," he continued, "I have been informed that every member of the team must participate. And to ensure fairness, we'll be joined by Mr. Fury and Nurse Parker." Coach Wilson gestured to the sidelines where Natasha's new favorite teacher and nurse were standing.

Nurse Parker looked like her usual ray of sunshine self, while Mr. Fury looked like he was one student's (or coach's) stupid comment away from committing a felony. When he saw Natasha, however, his glare softened for a fraction of a second.

Even though she should've expected it, Natasha was still unprepared to see Bucky standing with the other players. He kept looking over at her as if trying to communicate telepathically with her. She made an exaggerated effort to avoid eye contact with him.

Coach Wilson prattled off the instructions for the first round of tryouts. The shrill whistle sounded once more, and tryouts were officially started.

Natasha and the other girls made it through the speed assessment with ease. In addition to Carol, Maria, and Valkyrie, Maria Hill had arrived just before 8am and she was joined by another tall brunette. Gamora and Nebula had also shown up. Each one of the eight girls were allowed to move on to the next round.

The endurance round was a 5k—a 3.1-mile—run around the track. They nearly lost Maria Rambeau before the run even started. She was grumbling about being tired, but another pep talk from Carol seemed to do the trick. Just before the run, Natasha fished her running sneakers out of her bag and changed shoes. The cleats wouldn't work as well on the track.

While Natasha was changing her shoes, she struggled to avoid Bucky, who seemed to be following her wherever she went. Natasha was thankful when the break was cut short as Coach Wilson kicked off the endurance round. Bucky may have been athletic after years of playing football, but the year off and the difference in their sizes worked in Natasha's favor. She was easily the fastest one there.

Natasha finished the 5k in just over 18 minutes. Even Coach Wilson was impressed by Natasha's 6.10-minute miles. After Natasha, Carol was the second person to cross the finish line followed closely by Steve Rogers. Unfortunately, Maria Rambeau and Maria Hill's friend were amongst the last to cross the finish line. Their times were still in line with the requirements for passing the round, so they were still allowed to move on to drills.

They took another break in between the endurance round and the drills, and Natasha had to hide in the bathroom for most of it to avoid a very persistent Bucky.

Drills were kind of boring for Natasha. She had to step quick to avoid ending up at the same drill as Bucky, but for most of it, she managed to stick with Carol, Maria, and Valkyrie. What she lacked in speed, Maria more than made up for in strength. Of the four of them, Maria was possibly the strongest. At least, that's what it looked like on the surface. Natasha had a feeling that Carol was stronger, but the short blonde probably wanted her friend to have a win. Regardless, all three were stronger than Natasha.

As boring as the drills were, Natasha managed to amuse herself by getting to know the other girls. She'd never really had female friends before, and she couldn't help but feel an innocent kind of jealousy while watching Carol and Maria's easy friendship, but that wasn't the most interesting interaction. Natasha was more focused on the awkwardness between Carol and Valkyrie. Despite the first girl's confidence and the second girl's relaxed attitude, as well as their clear desire to be around each other, something about them seemed out of sync to Natasha. She stored the memory away to muse on later.

By the time drills were over, six of the eight girls were still in the running to make the team. Nebula had twisted her ankle, while Hope—Maria Hill's friend—dropped out of her own volition.

Steve, who was still expected to make the team and keep his role as team captain, was tasked with throwing together a team practice game that included the new recruits, while the coach watched and took notes.

Natasha was put in the role of wide receiver. From what she remembered during Carol's football lesson, a wide receiver was kind of a big deal. Natasha tried not to be nervous. To make matters worse, once they were lined up on the field, she found herself staring opposite Bucky in the cornerback position. Thankfully, Carol was put in the running back position. Before everything kicked off, she explained Steve's instructions from the huddle and warned her what the cornerback would try to do. All Natasha had to do was catch the ball if it was thrown to her and run faster than Bucky.

_Running from my ex? No problem…_

The whistle blew and everything happened really fast. Immediately after the snapback, Natasha took off down the field, keeping the mess of other players in her peripheral. She flew past Bucky, keeping her head partially turned back in case the ball came her way.

It did.

Just as she was looking back and evading Bucky, she spotted Carol's practice jersey number. Carol was searching for Steve, but he was blocked and couldn't take the pass. Then Carol's eyes landed on Natasha. Carol reeled back and the ball went flying through the air. Natasha took a deep breath, following the ball's trajectory with her eyes, while keeping Bucky's advancing form in her peripheral vision.

The ball finished its climb into the sky and was rapidly plummeting towards the ground in a wide arc. Natasha rushed to catch the ball and was surprised when it landed comfortably in her hands without bouncing off of her chest. With Bucky bearing down on her, Natasha took off in the direction of the end zone with the entire defensive and offensive team trailing behind her.

As she was running, she could practically feel Bucky breathing down her neck, so she pushed through the pain and fatigue, willing her legs to stretch further, go faster, move quicker. Bucky got lucky for a moment and almost succeeded in tackling Natasha. They both went down at the 10-yard line, but years of dancing had Natasha back on her feet and running towards the end zone again, ball still safely secured in her grip. Before Bucky could blink, Natasha had scored a touchdown.

The offensive team joined Natasha in the end zone to celebrate. It took Steve a while to get everyone back under control. It was only when Coach Wilson jogged over that everyone shut up.

"I gotta say, that was pretty impressive. What's your name?" he asked.

"Natasha Romanoff."

"And yours?" he asked, turning to Carol.

"Carol Danvers."

"Mhmm. Mhmm. Okay. Well, I think I have what I need for the day. Aside from those who didn't make it through the rounds, everyone will have either a spot on the varsity or JV team. I'm going to go over my notes in my office. I'll post the official positions and teams tonight at 8pm. Rogers, you can either keep practice going with some more plays or cut everyone loose. It's your call."

Coach Wilson walked off the field as Steve Rogers took control.

"Okay everyone. Tryouts are exhausting, I know, so I'm going to call it quits for today for the new folks. Congrats to those of you who made the team. We're off tomorrow, but I expect to see you ready to work hard on Monday at 3:30pm. For anyone who'd like to stay, I am more than happy to keep a practice game going, otherwise, move to the sidelines and start your cool-downs. Alright, break!" Steve finished, clapping his hands together.

Natasha, Carol, Valkyrie, and a few others stayed behind, but almost everyone else cleared the field. Ultimately, Steve was forced to give up on practice altogether. Bucky had also stayed behind, hovering near Steve. When they all started heading towards the sidelines to cool down and stretch, Bucky caught up to Natasha.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a minute? Just a minute, I promise," Bucky begged.

Natasha turned around, prepared to give him hell, but she was struck by the desperate sadness in his expression. She took pity on him. When Carol and Valkyrie paused, she motioned to them that she would be fine, and they kept walking towards the bleachers.

"What Bucky? What could you possibly have to say that would fix what happened?"

He stared at her, and she watched as whatever speech he'd prepared came crumbling down in his mind. Even though he was only seventeen, he looked so much older in that moment.

"You're right, Natasha," he finally said. "You're right. There's nothing I can say or do that will make up for what I did. The only thing I can possibly do is apologize, so I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I must've put you through. I'm sorry for the pain I've caused. And I'm sorry for bothering you. I—what the hell is _he_ doing here?"

Natasha followed Bucky's line of sight just over her shoulder. The bleachers were behind her and, based on his tone and facial expression, Natasha had an idea who "_he"_ could be. She turned around and was hardly surprised to see Tony Stark lounging on the bleachers. She was, however, surprised to see another figure sitting right next to him. The moment she recognized Stark's companion, Natasha's brain nearly imploded.

_Clint? _

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Sisters Are Doin' It For Themselves" - Eurythmics (ft. Aretha Franklin)


	16. Chapter 16

**The Sound of Silence**

**[Friday Night]**

_Tony? Tony…Stark?_

Clint stared down at his phone. Natasha's voice sounded small, far away, and…unfamiliar. Without thinking, Clint pressed the red 'end call' button, and the display screen went black. He stood in the middle of his room, phone in one hand and forehead in the other.

_Tony Stark. _

_Tony Stark. Tony Stark. Tony Stark. _

The name repeated itself as if playing on a continuous loop inside his brain.

_Tony-freaking-Stark_.

Clint threw his phone at the bed with such force that it bounced off and fell onto the floor. He left it lying there as he went to tell his mom that Natasha was safe. It was still lying there when he returned to his room for the night, but he didn't pick it up. Instead, he fell face-first onto the bed, fully intending to stay like that until he suffocated.

His plans were interrupted by an unfamiliar beeping sound. Clint pulled his face back from the mattress and listened.

_Beep!_

He pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked around his room.

_Beep!_

He scrambled to his feet, his head turning on a swivel, trying to detect the source of the beeping.

_Beep!_

This time, Clint could've sworn the sound was coming from somewhere near his feet. He looked down. His phone was still on the floor, peeking up at him from halfway under the bed.

_Beep!_

The infernal beeping was definitely coming from his phone. Clint reached down to pick it up, but the toe of his boot kicked it further under the bed.

"Of course," he sighed.

_Beep!_

The beeping was muffled slightly but still persistent.

Clint dropped to the floor and shimmied halfway beneath the bed. Once his upper body was completely under, he stretched out his hand, grasping wildly for the errant device. His fingers had only barely grazed the smooth edge of the phone's case when another _beep!_ broke his concentration.

He shrieked—a manly shriek, of course. It was the type of shriek one might expect from an ancient warrior. A manly warrior. The manliest warrior to ever go to war like a man…and then shriek.

_Beep!_

Even though he should've expected the noise by now, Clint jerked violently at the sound and hit his head on the metal frame supporting the mattress.

"Gah!" Clint tried to rub his head, but he couldn't get either of his hands into the necessary angle.

With renewed determination, Clint clenched his jaw and shimmied a bit further until he had the phone clutched securely in his grasp.

_Beep!_

"Dude…I will end you," he threatened, then he sighed. "And now I'm talking to an inanimate freaking object. That's just…great," he said with a sigh.

After a few more beeps later, Clint emerged from beneath the bed in bittersweet triumph. Sure, he had succeeded, but at what cost? His head was pounding, and his ego was bruised. He was just glad that no one had been around to witness the whole ordeal.

Even though he'd succeeded in retrieving the phone, now Clint couldn't find the source of the beeping. It was coming from the phone, but he'd received no new messages or alerts or notifications of any kind.

And still, the phone continued to beep. Each time it did, the little light at the top blinked red. Clint tried to restart the phone, but it wouldn't turn off. Instead, the entire screen cut straight to black except for a red dot in the center that flashed with every offending _beep!_ He was about to throw the damn thing out the window when a text box popped up on the screen.

The text in the box could've been a foreign language for all Clint new. He couldn't make sense of it at all. Once the text reached the bottom of the box, it continued in a scrolling motion. Clint could only stare at the screen with a dumbfounded expression.

Finally, the scroll of text disappeared and was replaced by a blinking, white underscore icon. This new development was brief, however, as the icon raced across the screen while words followed after. When the message was finished, it read:

**Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your golden hair.**

Clint looked up at his window and then back down at his phone. He did this a few times, unsure of…everything.

Then: **I'm waiting…**

In an effort to respond to the mysterious message, Clint stabbed the screen with his thumbs in the general vicinity of where his keypad should've been.

A third message appeared: **Go to your window. Look out and then down. FFS.**

Clint paused. "I'm 99.99% sure this is how at least one horror movie has started," he grumbled to himself.

Nonetheless, Clint did as the mysterious messenger ordered. He approached his window and peered out into the night just in time to see Natasha's car pull into the driveway.

"What the…" he muttered.

The messages couldn't possibly be her. He looked back down at his phone. When he looked back out into the darkness, he spotted two flashing lights—headlights—a few hundred yards away.

_Beep!_

Clint looked back at the screen.

**We need to talk. **

"Like hell," Clint said. For good measure, he flipped off the unknown stranger or, at least, the general direction of the unknown stranger.

As luck would have it, this was not a wise move on Clint's part. Moments after making the obscene gesture, his phone went crazy. The device started vibrating violently in Clint's hand and was soon accompanied by a shrill siren-like noise. He was so startled, that he almost dropped it.

Another series of messages flashed on the screen:

**First of all, rude…**

**Second, it wasn't a suggestion.**

**Third, do it or else.**

**You've already seen what I can do to your phone, so…**

**I'll leave the 'else' to your imagination.**

The screen dissolved into a slightly darkened, partially blurry picture of Natasha's tear-streaked face.

Blinded by rage, Clint nearly flung himself out the window. He had to stop and take a deep breath to calm himself, which was difficult given the obnoxious noises and motions coming from his phone.

Clint threw up his hands in surrender, and the phone went still.

Another series of messages flashed across the black screen:

**Leave unseen.**

**I'd recommend the window. **

**Wait until Natasha's inside. **

**Get in your car. **

**Drive over to me. **

**Stay in your car. **

**Do NOT get out. **

**Tell no one. **

**Or else…**

Clint sighed in defeat as he grabbed his wallet and keys, turned his bedroom light off, and climbed out of the window without wasting another second. If Natasha was in danger, Clint wasn't going to risk anything; he would do as instructed. Until he got close enough, at least.

And if this stranger _was_ threatening Natasha, Clint would make them regret it, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

* * *

It was quiet in Clint's car.

Too quiet.

Aside from the steady purr of his engine, the silence was overwhelming as it threatened to crush him. And Clint's body was buckling under the weight of it. From his too-tight grip on the steering wheel to the tension that settled deep into each of his muscles, every molecule of his being was humming with discomfort. The longer he drove, the worse it got.

After Clint found the car parked on the side road near his house, he did as he was told and remained there, waiting for the next set of instructions.  
He received one final message:

**Follow**.

So, he did.

And that was over fifteen minutes ago.

Normally, a fifteen-minute night drive wouldn't bother Clint. He enjoyed them, in fact, but not this one. The second Natasha's face had popped up on his cell phone's screen, Clint's heart had started racing, and it still hadn't stopped. With every passing minute, Clint grew more and more tense, even as he imagined the many, many, many ways he would hurt this mysterious puppet master.

Finally, the car pulled into a long, paved driveway. Every one of Clint's senses went on high alert. The driveway was well-lit and led to a sizeable house that could possibly be considered a mansion of sorts.

As soon as the other car pulled up to the house, it disappeared into a garage. The door shut behind it, leaving Clint stuck on the other side.

By this point, Clint knew how to play this stranger's game. He parked his car and cut the engine but remained seated with his phone in his hand.

A few minutes later, another message popped up:

**Are you waiting for a special invitation, princess? Come on. The door's opened. **

Clint looked up and, sure enough, the front door opened—seemingly of its own volition.

His heart was hammering wildly against his chest, and he felt flushed, but Clint pressed on ahead. As he walked up the front steps, Clint realized that this was a terrible idea and that he should get really comfortable with the idea of human skin suits really quick, but it was too late to turn back now. Even if it wasn't, he would do whatever it took to keep Natasha safe. Still, that didn't stop Clint's fine motor skills and most of his gross motor skills from coming to a screeching halt the closer he got to the door.

Walking through the opened door, Clint could've sworn his body was vibrating at a frequency that should've caused it to explode, so it was a surprise that he didn't immediately drop dead of a heart attack when he finally saw the face of the person pulling his strings for the last half hour.

"Seriously, Stark? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kick the crap outta you right now."

Tony Stark shrugged. "Assault's a felony? And this is just a guess, but I don't think orange is your color." He turned around and walked further into the house.

Clint followed, glaring at the back of Stark's head. "Oh, I'm sure I could pull it off."

Tony looked back, with one eyebrow raised. "With that complexion? I don't think so, dear. Orange would wash you out."

They walked into a kitchen, and the room immediately lit up.

"Have a seat," Tony said, gesturing to the barstools by the counter. "Can I get you a drink?"

Clint didn't budge. "No. You can tell me what the hell is going on."

Tony was already searching the fridge's contents. He looked back at Clint with both eyebrows raised in feigned innocence. "You sure? We got practically everything. This might take a while, so…"

"Stark!"

Tony's eyes went wide, and he turned his attention back to the open fridge. "Geez. Fine. Have it your way, but I don't wanna hear you complaining about inadequately lubricated vocal cords later."

"Inadequately lubricated—what?"

"Well, after everything that's happened this week, especially tonight," Tony explained, his head still lost inside the fridge. He emerged with a pair of water bottles and whipped around to face Clint, "I figure you have an awful lot of explaining to do." Tony punctuated the last word by slamming both water bottles on the kitchen island. "I figure we're going to be here a while, so, like I said: Have. A. Seat."

For a while, Clint and Tony stared at one another, both refusing to back down. Eventually, something in Tony's expression convinced Clint to take a seat. Tony tossed one of the water bottles to Clint, who easily caught it, then took a seat opposite his guest/hostage.

Uncertain of how to proceed, Clint waited impatiently.

"Are you an idiot?" Tony finally asked.

Clint opened his mouth to reply, but Tony waved him off.

"No, don't answer that. It was a rhetorical question. Of course, you're an idiot. So, obvious idiocy aside, I guess the better question would be: where do you get off treating Natasha the way you've treated her this week? 'Cause, I mean, the last time I checked, you're supposed to be her friend, not her jailer."

Clint rolled his eyes. "As usual, Stark, I have no idea what you're talking about, probably because _you_ have no idea what _you're _talking about."  
"Oh really? Well, let me break it down for you, birdbrain. You've spent the entire week all but permanently perched on Natasha's shoulders like Polly-the-freaking-Parrot, making eyes at everyone like you're daring them to so much as look at her. Now I get it, you may think I don't know what I'm talking about because I don't understand whatever deep, meaningful connection you two have…yadda, yadda, yadda…or that it's impossible to reconcile my perceptions with your facts, but it's not just me. Other kids have seen it, too. And, more importantly, I've also been chatting with Natasha all week on M3, and even she thinks you've been the human equivalent of the word 'extra' lately. That's paraphrased, obviously."

"So, naturally, that means you have to quasi-kidnap and interrogate me in the middle of the night."

Clearly unimpressed by Clint's attempt at sarcasm, Tony pressed on. "First of all, it's not even 11pm on a Friday, so I'd hardly call that the middle of the night, grandpa. Second, this isn't an interrogation. This is a chance to open a dialogue, so you can deal with your childhood trauma before you pull a full Joe Goldberg and lock Miss Romanoff in a box. Spoiler alert, bucko, she's not your property. It's not up to you to decide where she goes, what she does, and who she hangs out with. I don't know if you noticed, but Natasha's a big girl; so, she can make her own decisions. If she wants to go on a double date with actual Joe Goldberg and the couple from _Natural Born Killers_, it's her prerogative. As her friend, you're more than welcome to try and talk her out of it, but it's ultimately up to her. Ya feel me?"

"You think I don't know that?" Clint asked.

Unphased, Tony shook his head. "No. I really don't think you do. If you did, we wouldn't be here, because she had this same conversation with you a few days ago. I've added a few embellishments, naturally, but the moral of the story remains the same. And you _still _don't seem to get it."

Clint stood up. "I got it. I get it. When she said she was hanging out with you, I didn't say shit, okay? My family and I were just worried. That's it. I didn't say shit. You can ask her."

"I don't have to ask her," Tony shot back. "I was there with her when she called you. There was a two-foot-wide table between me and her, so I heard everything. Saw everything, too. You know that picture I sent you. That was her moments after she hung up. Crying. You made her cry. She waited until she got to her car—tried to keep herself together for a minute—before she completely and utterly broke down in tears. And, as her friend—yes, I said friend, so wipe that indignant look off your pretty little face—where was I? Oh, yeah. As her friend, I felt compelled to do something about it.

"So, I hacked your phone and traced the GPS to your house. I guess she had to pull over because she was crying too much or something, 'cause I got there a few minutes before she did. And believe me when I say that it took every ounce of my will power not to march right into your house and drag you out by your ridiculous fauxhawk just so I could whoop some sense into that possibly empty, square-shaped head of yours."

Clint bristled at the insults and the invasion of privacy. "I thought this wasn't supposed to be an interrogation…"

Tony took a long swig of his water. "Yeah? Well, I changed my mind."

"Are you finished?" Clint asked.

"For the time being," Tony said. "Don't tell me you've had a thought wiggle its way into that impenetrable thing up there," he added, pointing a finger at Clint's head, nearly poking him in the process.

Clint jerked back a bit. "Stark, I swear…" he warned.

Tony pulled his hand back in mock-surrender.

"I don't know who Joe Goldberg is," Clint began, "but I know who you are, Stark, and I know what you've done when it comes to the girls at school. So, forgive me for wanting to spare my favorite person on Earth from all of that," he gestured towards Tony in a vague manner.

"Spare her? From what? Friendship?"

"Friendship? Seriously, Stark? I don't know who you think you're fooling, but I've seen the way you look at her. Friendship is the last thing on your womanizing agenda."

Tony's face darkened. "That's where you're wrong, Tweety-Pie. I am trying so hard—you have no idea just how hard—to be her friend and nothing more."

Clint rolled his eyes.

"No, really," Tony protested. "I'm not going to lie to you, because that won't get us anywhere. So, yes, I am interested in Natasha. There, I said it. You caught me. Congratulations. But when I say that I'm only trying to be her friend, that's not a lie, either."

Clint crossed his arms over his chest. "Give me one good reason I should believe you, Stark."

Tony shrugged. "Bruce," he said as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

"Bruce?"  
"Banner."  
"Yes," Clint huffed. "I know who Bruce is, thank you. What about him?"

"Bruce," Tony repeated, his voice just above a whisper.

"Bruce?" Clint asked again, even as realization was dawning on him.

"Yeah. Bruce," Tony shrugged again. "He likes her."

Clint allowed his gaze to inspect every inch of Tony's face, watching as some of the other boy's bravado crumbled. "What does that have to do with you," he asked.

Tony suddenly seemed incapable of making eye contact. "He likes her, but he's shy. It's this whole thing, but the short version is that I promised to bow out unless she actively pursues me for anything other than friendship. He's one of my best friends, so…"

In that moment, Clint felt a tiny spark of sympathy for the habitually cocky teen sitting across from him. It was one of a handful of times he'd ever felt anything better than apathy for Stark, and the feeling made him uncomfortable.

"So…" Clint said, clearing his throat, "you're completely out of the game unless Natasha pulls an Uncle Sam?"

Tony nodded.

"Huh…" Clint mused. "Gotta admit…I never would've seen that coming."

"Me either," Tony scoffed.

They sat there in silence, both adjusting to the changing energy in the air.

"She cried?" Clint finally asked.

"Crocodile tears, man. Felt it right here," Tony said without a beat, pointing to his heart as he did.

Clint allowed his head to droop. "Ah, dammit."

"We're on the same team, man," Tony finally said, breaking another long stretch of silence.

"How so?"

"If all I ever am is a friend to her, I want to do it right. Earlier, you said you knew me, well, then you know that I'm a lackadaisical perfectionist—as nonsensical as that sounds. If I'm willing to step aside for Bruce, imagine what I'd be willing to do for her."

Clint followed along, nodding silently.

"I guess what I'm saying, is that I'm not the bad guy, here. And I'm not saying that you are, either," Tony added hastily. "How much has she told you about the whole Bucky thing?"

"Everything."

Both of Tony's eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing into his hairline. "So, you know who the real bad guy is then?"

Clint nodded. "Well, now that I know you're not going to be an issue, yeah. I guess so."

"So," Tony said, clapping his hands together, "what do you say we put all this crap behind us—you know, kiss and make up—and band together. Direct our efforts where they're most needed…mmm?"

"And, what? Be, like, friends?" Clint asked, grimacing at the thought.

Tony's eyes widened. "Friends? Gah. No. Of course not. What the hell is wrong with you? No. Just be civil, for crying out loud."

They both stared at one another, both feigning disgust but deep down, they both knew something had changed that night. Their frowns weren't as hard, and there was a vaguely friendly gleam in their eyes. It came and went so fast that it would've gone unseen by any outsider, but they both saw it.

They were interrupted from their respective thoughts on that horrifying notion by a loud rumbling coming from Clint's stomach.

"Hungry?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. Dinner was forever ago."

"There's a 24-hour pancake place a few miles away. My treat for the, what did you call it…quasi-kidnapping?"

Clint looked at his watch. "It's after 11."

Tony shot him a 'so what' look. "Like I said, 24-hours. It's not like I'm going to bed anytime soon. I don't want to oversleep and miss the football tryouts tomorrow morning."

This threw Clint for a loop. "You're trying out for football?"

Tony laughed. "Me? No way. Nope. That honor goes to Natasha."

"What?"

"Yeah. She told me at dinner. Somewhere between sneaking up on me and the tears."

Clint grimaced. "Please stop bringing that up. It's going to take me eons to come up with a way to apologize to her for that."

"Well," Tony said, jumping down from his seat. "What do you say to an all-night pancake fest? I can help you figure out a way to make it up to her, how to deal with this Bucky thing, and anything else that might be useful if we plan on playing nice for a while."

"Okay. I'm in, but I'm driving, though. I've seen you drive, and I value my life."

"Fair enough. Let's hit the road, Jack."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Can you quit it with the references?"

"Only if you ask nicely."

"Can you quit it with the references, please?"

"No," Tony grinned. "You can have 'em when you pry 'em from my cold, lifeless fingers."

"Promises, promises…"

As they were walking out the door and climbing into his car, a thought occurred to Clint.

"What's going to happen if Natasha is interested in you?" he asked.

Tony shrugged. "I don't know, man, but I bet it'll be interesting."

Clint could only respond with a non-committal grunt, but he secretly agreed.

_Interesting, indeed._

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "The Sound of Silence" - Simon & Garfunkle


	17. Chapter 17

**Smile (pt. 2)**

_Clint…with…Tony? _

As if her cleats had taken root in the artificial turf of the football field, Natasha found herself rendered immobilized by the sight of her life-long friend looking as relaxed as she'd ever seen him all while sitting directly next to his supposed enemy.

_What…?_

Natasha could not make sense of the image. Moving of their own volition and without direct instruction from her brain, Natasha's feet slowly propelled the rest of her body towards the bleachers, one foot in front of the other. She was vaguely aware of Bucky's voice in the background, but the fog surrounding her head rendered his words incomprehensible.

As Natasha got closer to the bleachers, Tony's lazy grin grew wider. Clint's expression, on the other hand, was partially masked by a pair of sunglasses but even those couldn't hide the half-smirk on his face.

"Iglesias for the win!" Tony cheered once Natasha had come to a stop in front of the bleachers.

Clint's head twitched slightly in his direction, but Natasha got the feeling that his eyes never left her direction—whether he was looking at her face or the one just past her shoulder was up for debate.

"That was incredible," Tony continued, hopping up from his seat and climbing down the bleachers in such a haphazard manner that Natasha was concerned for his safety.

The concern was unnecessary as Tony managed to maneuver the unforgiving metal steps with ease and land squarely in front of her with a goofy smile plastered across his face.

"Told you, you could do it!" he boasted.

Behind him, Clint was slowly making his own way down the bleachers, but his approach was decidedly more guarded.

"Hey, Nat," he said quietly once he was safe on the ground.

Natasha turned to him, wishing he would lose the damn sunglasses so she could read him.

"Clint," she said, returning his greeting with a nod.

They both fell quiet.

Tony's gaze alternated between them several times, then he clapped Clint on the back. "See man, told you this wouldn't be awkward," he said, sucking a gulp of air between his teeth. "Tsk. Yup…" he shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Not awkward at all."

Clint's head twitched in Tony's direction again, and Natasha could almost feel his annoyance, only this time there was something else…something she couldn't identify.

"We need to talk," Clint said, turning back to her.

Deadpanned, Natasha replied, "Yeah. I've been hearing that a lot these last few days."

Even with the sunglasses still on, Clint's reaction to her words was perfectly visible in the way he flinched and the nearly imperceptible sagging of his shoulders.

He nodded gravely. "Yeah. I messed up last night, Nat. I was in the wrong. I'm sorry."

Natasha took this in and noted Tony's suddenly serious expression as it was said.

"Mhmm," she mused, "and what brought about this change of heart?"

Tony's hand shot up.

"Dude…" Clint sighed.

Tony's hand fell to his side.

"That's my bad," Tony said, clearly struggling to remain somber.

Clint finally removed his glasses and rolled his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"He's not wrong, though," Clint eventually admitted. He turned the full power of his best puppy dog eyes on, directing them at her. "Stark and I've been talking all night. He made me realize what an ass I've been this week. What's worse, is that it took Tony-freaking-Stark telling me the same thing you did the other day to get me to see it. I should've listened to you the first time and, for that, I am so sorry, Nat."

Natasha considered this. She looked over at Tony, who was surprisingly watching Clint with an empathetic expression. Her brain started to malfunction again.

"So, what? Are you two, like…friends now?" she asked.

"I wouldn't go that far," Clint said, shaking his head.

At the same time, Tony comically gasped and clutched his chest. "How very dare you, Miss Romanoff. I thought you knew me better than that."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Ignore him."

"Pfft. Rude," Tony joked.

Natasha was further surprised when Clint smiled a bit at Tony's antics instead of punching him in the face.

"This is…weird," Natasha admitted.

Clint's head snapped up. "Dude. You need to leave."

Natasha's gaze flicked to Tony. Instead of looking offended, he was glaring at something or someone just behind Natasha.

"Yeah, unless you want to finish what we started the other day," Tony added.

Natasha turned around and saw Bucky standing a few feet behind her. Instead of backing down from Tony and Clint's twin withering stares, Bucky moved closer until he was side-by-side with Natasha.

"I'm not here to cause trouble—"

"So, leave," Clint interrupted, taking a menacing step forward.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tony's hands ball up into fists in probable preparation for another fight.

"Hold on just a minute," Natasha announced, stepping between Bucky and her two wannabe white knights. "Just hold on. Tony, Clint, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I'm fully capable of taking care of myself. Isn't that what you said last night, Tony?"

Tony peeled his gaze away from Bucky's face, which had turned inexplicably pale, and his fists relaxed.

"And Clint, you literally just apologized for this, come on," Natasha continued, directing her chastisement towards her best friend.

Based on the way he looked between her and Bucky, Natasha could tell that Clint was struggling between listening to her and giving in to his need to protect her. Even she couldn't be mad at him for that. Natasha reached out and lightly touched his arm. This seemed to work, and Clint took a step back.

With her would-be saviors taken care of, Natasha turned to her ex. "Bucky, you said it yourself, there's nothing you can do or say that will make up for what you did. All of that is in the past now, and I don't want to look back anymore. And I shouldn't have to keep looking over my shoulder, waiting for you to pop up out of nowhere, begging to talk to me. You messed up, and you need to deal with that. It's not my responsibility to make you feel better by forgiving you. From now on, unless it's about football or I approach you, please leave me alone. I don't need these two playing attack dogs; you know perfectly well that I am capable of taking care of myself. Understand?"

Reluctantly, Bucky nodded.

"I'm sorry it has to be like this, but that's on you, and you need to deal with it," she finished.

Her final words were not intended to be cruel or a dismissal, but they needed to be said. She wasn't sorry about what she said but that it had to be said at all. And she definitely didn't like the crushed look on her first and only boyfriend's face.

_Ex. _

_Ex-boyfriend_, she reminded herself.

Natasha turned back to Tony and Clint. "I am starving. What do you say we go get something to eat, and you can tell me all about this long talk of yours? I'm curious to find out what you boys have planned for my life."

She batted her eyes with feigned innocence, causing both boys to go red in the face.

_That'll teach 'em_, Natasha thought.

"Uh, sure thing," Tony sputtered. "My treat."

Natasha shook her head. "I don't think so. I think Clint should have that honor. Isn't that right, Lil' Hawk?"

_Lil' Hawk?_ Tony mouthed to Clint, his grin returning.

Clint ignored him and huffed, mumbling something under his breath.

"I said, isn't that right, Lil' Hawk?" Natasha repeated, struggling to maintain a neutral yet authoritative expression.

"Yes, Nat-Nat," he finally answered glumly.

"Isn't that sweet?" Natasha asked Tony. "Clint's offered to treat us."

Before Tony could open his mouth and piss Clint off, Natasha continued, "In that case, would it be okay to invite my new friends along?" she asked, gesturing towards Carol, Valkyrie, and Maria who were loitering near the end of the bleachers, watching everything unfold.

"I could eat," Maria called out.

The other two nodded.

Clint's mouth tightened into a flat line. "Sure thing, Nat-Nat."

The corner of Natasha's lips twitched. "Hey girls, Clint's agreed to treat us to a celebratory lunch. Any preferences?"

Her question was met with shrugs and a chorus of 'I don't know' and 'it doesn't matter to me'.

At this, Tony perked up. "Have you ever had shawarma? There's a shawarma joint a few miles away. I've never had it, but I've always wanted to try it."

When his suggestion wasn't met with any protests, it was decided.

"Shawarma it is," Natasha declared. "Tony, can you get the address for us? That way, we can all take our own cars."

Tony got the address as requested. Soon, they were all headed towards the parking lot, leaving behind a solemn Bucky and a concerned Steve Rogers.

* * *

Tony arrived home later that night. The house was dark and empty as usual, but he couldn't bring himself to notice. At that moment, Tony felt like dancing. The shawarma had been okay, but it was the company that had him feeling intoxicated.

As convinced as he was that his smile could light the way through a black hole, Tony moved through the house, turning on a light here and there as he went. As poetic as his sentiments were, his practical side was winning out. Even though thinking about Natasha made shine like gold, it wasn't going to keep him from tripping over his own feet, especially when the thought of her made him feel a bit dizzy.

When Tony made his way into the living room, he headed straight for the sound system and looked for the best song to describe how he was feeling. Having selected the perfect song, he flipped it on and turned the volume up as high as it could go.

The first few notes of Uncle Kracker's Smile pierced through the silence. Tony started to sway along to the melody, mouthing the lyrics as he did:

_You're better than the best  
I'm lucky just to linger in your light  
Cooler then the flip side of my pillow, that's right  
Completely unaware  
Nothing can compare to where you send me,  
Lets me know that it's OK, yeah it's OK  
And the moments where my good times start to fade…_

Soon, Tony was dancing wildly around the room, singing along at the top of his lungs:

"You make me smile like the sun  
Fall out of bed, sing like a bird  
Dizzy in my head, spin like a record  
Crazy on a Sunday night  
You make me dance like a fool  
Forget how to breathe  
Shine like gold, buzz like a bee  
Just the thought of you can drive me wild  
Oh, you make me smile"

He kept it up all throughout the song, and as it drew to a close, Tony felt like he could fly. When the last note played and the song went silent, he returned to the sound system to play it again but was stopped by the sound of slow clapping.

Tony whipped around and saw Bruce watching him with a half-amused, half-annoyed expression.

"Hey, buddy!" Tony shouted in surprise.

"Hey there, Tony. What's up?"

Tony's cheeks puffed out as he searched for an acceptable answer to Bruce's question.

"Oh, nothing much. Just felt like dancing, you know?"

Bruce said nothing but arched an eyebrow.

Tony mimed a little jig to illustrate his point.

Bruce's other eyebrow flew up. "I thought we were supposed to work on the Ultron project tonight."

Tony's stomach lurched.

_Dammit!_

"Hey, buddy. I'm sorry. Something came up. We can do it now if you want. Here," he said, grabbing his phone, "let me order pizza to make it up to you."

Bruce shook his head. "I'm good. I already ate while I was waiting."

_Double-dammit!_

Tony scrambled to find an explanation. Something, anything to make this better, but he kept coming up empty.

"So, what happened?" Bruce asked, folding his arms across his chest.

_Triple-dammit!_

"Uh…"

Bruce stared at Tony without blinking. The longer it took Tony to come up with an answer, the more annoyed Bruce looked. Finally, he seemed to give up and dug his phone out of his pocket while walking towards Tony.

"I get it, Tony. If I had promised I would back off when it came to a girl for my friend's sake and then completely broke that promise, I'd probably be struggling to come up with an on-the-spot lie, too," Bruce said with a sigh as he flipped his phone around.

There, on the screen, as clear as day, was a picture taken earlier by a friendly waiter:

Maria, Valkyrie, Carol, Clint, Natasha, and himself scrunched together on one side of the table, all smiling brightly at the camera.

The worst part?

His arm clearly draped across Natasha's shoulders and his head resting against hers.

"Shit."

"Yeah…"

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Smile" - Uncle Kracker


	18. Chapter 18

**My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark (Light Em Up)**

"How'd you even get that photo?" Tony asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen.

"Not really the issue right now, Tony," Bruce replied, snatching his phone back.

"Maybe not," Tony admitted, "but we didn't post that anywhere, which means somebody sent it to you, and I think I should know who was responsible. Was it Clint?"

"I don't know, Tony. It was a blocked number, but that's not the point."

"But—"

"You broke your promise, Tony," Bruce interrupted. "Sorry, promises. You broke your promises. You forgot that we had plans, and you forgot because you were on a date with Natasha. I can't believe you, man."

Tony threw his hands up in surrender. "It wasn't a date, Bruce, I promise. You have to trust me."

"Kinda don't."

"Come on, little buddy. I would never—"

"And can you just cut the 'little buddy' crap. I'm, like, an inch shorter than you."

Tony rubbed his face and sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. Sorry for calling you that and sorry about earlier, but it isn't what it looks like, I swear. Just let me explain."

After a long stretch of silence, Tony looked up to see Bruce waiting patiently with arms crossed and nostrils flared. Tony sighed again, then launched into an explanation, starting at the beginning.

* * *

It had been too easy, and Loki had Natasha to thank.

"Fruit baskets, kisses, darling, whatever you want…it's yours," he whispered into the night air as he reclined in the tree just outside Stark's mansion.

When Natasha had accessed M3 with her phone on Friday night and Tony had replied, Loki finally gained access to both of their devices.

And when that photo popped up on his dashboard that evening, he'd been quick to use it to his advantage. With the closeness between the Romanoff girl and Stark, especially how they were posed…well, it was like Christmas had come early for Loki. All it took was one innocent picture taken on Natasha's phone and Loki had everything he needed to launch the next phase of his plan.

Loki was watching the fight between Stark and Banner unfold through a pair of binoculars hanging around his neck, when his stomach growled.

"What I wouldn't give for some popcorn right about now," he chuckled darkly.

* * *

"That's it?" Bruce asked once Tony finished his explanation of the events leading up to the picture.

"Yeah, that's it. Totally innocent."

Bruce scoffed. "Innocent? Yeah right."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I just walked in on you dancing around the room to a pop song like a lovesick schoolboy, Tony. If that's your idea of innocent, then I don't want to see what your idea of guilty looks like. And it doesn't change the fact that she's the reason you forgot about our plans. What the hell, man?"

"I don't know what to say," Tony declared. "I said I was sorry, but you're right, it wasn't completely innocent." He looked away. "I like her, Bruce, but I made a promise to you, so I'm trying to keep that promise because our friendship means so much to me. I don't know how else to say that. I mean, I even told Clint that last night…about backing off for your sake, I mean."

"Dude."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, but it's true and I have a strong aversion to having my face bashed in. At the time, it seemed like the best way to avoid having Clint kick the crap out of me. Besides, between the two of us, he'd rather have you going after Nat instead of me," Tony lamented.

Bruce turned away and walked across the room, hands on his hips. He came to a stop and stood there like a statue. Tony watched with bated breath.

"Fine," Bruce relented. "I'm still mad at you for forgetting about our plans, but I believe everything else."

"So, were good?"

"Dude, no. Weren't you listening? Our plans, remember? I'm still mad at you," Bruce growled.

Tony looked away. "What can I do?"

Bruce shook his head and shrugged. "There's not much you can do."  
They stood there in silence, allowing it to fill the room, crushing them.

"I don't like this," Bruce finally continued. "I don't like what this girl is doing to us."

"I don't like it, either," Tony agreed.

A noise outside broke the tension.

"What was that?" Tony asked, peering out the window and into the darkness.

"No idea." Bruce's voice sounded farther away.

Tony turned around to find Bruce walking out of the room.

"Where you going?" he called out, jogging after him.

"I'm going home, Tony. I need to clear my head. I just…I just can't be around you right now. I need some time to think, okay?"

"But—"

"Later, man," Bruce said, closing the front door behind him.

Tony sagged against the wall.

"How am I going to fix this?" he asked.

The silence offered no reply.

* * *

Loki went rigid at the sound of Stark's front door opening and closing. He watched as Banner emerged and walked down the driveway. Once he was out of sight, Loki groaned in pain.

Falling out of the tree hadn't been ideal. And he was almost caught spying after yelling when he fell, which wasn't ideal, either, but the worst part was why he fell.

"What is it going to take to get these guys at each other's throats?" he grumbled to no one in particular.

Banner and Stark had been so close to getting over it by sympathizing with one another. If it hadn't been for his ability to read lips, Loki might not have fallen out of the tree, and the lack of distraction might've made a reconciliation possible between the two friends. Even though he was in pain, Loki was thankful for his momentary shock-induced clumsiness.

While he hadn't caught most of what transpired after the fall, the amount of time between Tony going to the window and Bruce walking out the door left little doubt in Loki's mind that everything was resolved between them. One last look into the window to see Stark shuffling back into the living room with a troubled expression confirmed Loki's suspicions, and that was all he needed.

"Time for phase two."

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark (Light Em Up)" - Fall Out Boy


	19. Chapter 19

**i can't breathe**

Sunday was gloomy.

A thick blanket of heavy clouds covered the sky, while rumblings in the distance warned of an impending storm. And while the whole doom-and-gloom vibe wasn't as bad as a Billie Holiday song, it was still palpable throughout the town.

Except for Loki, who was content to spend the dreary day cooped up in his room, monitoring the electronic communication channels of his peers and preparing for phase two of his plan.

No. Loki wasn't miserable at all. In fact, if someone were to walk past his bedroom door and listen closely, it is entirely plausible that they would be able to hear him humming.

* * *

A streak of lightning sliced through the darkened sky followed by a deafening crack of thunder, but Bruce could not be bothered by the foul weather. After a long night and morning of wandering the town, Bruce ended up on a park bench, unable to fight his way out of his scrambled thoughts.

His phone had died many hours prior to his arrival in the local park. Of this—and only this—Bruce was thankful. The battery's untimely end was furthered along by the constant buzzing of phone calls, texts, and notifications. There had been several from Tony, a few from Natasha, one from Clint, and Bruce eventually gave up keeping track. His only communication after leaving Tony's house was a phone call to his aunt letting her know that he would be spending the night at a friend's house. She didn't seem to mind; she never did.

Even when the rain started to fall, Bruce couldn't bring himself to care.

* * *

If his argument with Bruce was responsible for smothering Tony's joy at spending the day with Natasha, then this best friend's abrupt departure only made matters worse. If Tony was being honest with himself—a rarity, indeed—he hadn't been this depressed since his mother's accident.

After a moment of sulking on the floor by the front door, Tony's thoughts drifted back to the mysterious source responsible for sending Bruce the photo. Something about that didn't sit right with him. Shaking slightly and feeling a bit ill, Tony struggled to pull himself up off the floor and seek out his phone.

Clint was called first, and the conversation was troubling. Tony would've given anything for his new ally to be responsible. It would've been easier that way, reassuring, even. Clint's steadfast denial, coupled with his alarmed tone, left little doubt of his innocence. Troubling, indeed.

The roller coaster of emotions he'd experienced over the last hour left Tony feeling sick and exhausted. The parts of his body that weren't heavy or churning, were numb. It was as if his emotions were connected to a circuit board, which had overheated due to the rapid change from bliss to surprise to panic to guilt and now depression and had subsequently been fried. His lack of sleep the previous night wasn't helping. Even as tired as he was, Tony doubted he would get much rest that night; however, the brain cells that were still able to function under this kind of psychological and physiological stress reminded him that rest was necessary for…some reason or other (they couldn't quite remember).

Tony tossed and turned for as long as he could, but sleep evaded him. Eventually, he gave up and settled for wandering around the dark, empty mansion. Several times throughout the night, Tony found himself hovering outside the workshop but looking through the glass door at the unfinished Ultron project only reminded Tony why he was alone in the first place. He couldn't bring himself to enter.

Instead, he returned to his spot by the door, just in case Bruce returned.

* * *

One of the reasons Clint never quite liked Tony Stark, even before his mother's accident, was because of jealousy, pure and simple. Clint wasn't exactly dumb, but Stark made him look like an idiot child by comparison. Up until the moment he received the phone call from his former enemy, Clint had been happy to believe that his dislike of Stark was actually because of the way the genius teen acted—as if he was better than everyone because of his intelligence.

The phone call forced Clint to reevaluate that idea.

Hearing the uncertainty in Stark's voice about anything technologically-related left Clint lost and confused. If Tony Stark can't figure something out, then what hope was there for Clint? In the back of his mind, Clint knew he should be focused on the fact that either someone had hacked Natasha or one of her new friends was not to be trusted; instead, Clint could only focus on the feeling of despair that came from wishing Stark knew the answer.

But he had to tell Natasha. She needed to know.

The look on her face gave Clint an idea of how he must've looked after ending his call with Stark: lost and confused but also violated and possibly betrayed.

Naturally, she'd recovered—if you could call it that—faster than he had, and they'd spent the night verbally dissecting everything they could, hoping their conversation would lead to an epiphany—the identity of the traitor or hacker—but they eventually gave up.

Both unable to get any substantial sleep, they'd ended up huddled together on Natasha's bedroom floor. Occasionally, one of them would scramble up into a sitting position and present a new theory, just to have it shot down by the other one for whatever reason.

Both were exhausted by the time night gave way to the gray and dreary morning, and Clint returned to his room. No matter how he looked at the situation, he kept coming to the same conclusion: he'd failed Natasha, and that thought was eating him alive.

* * *

Steve had to steal Bucky's phone when he wasn't looking. It wasn't good for his best friend, who was already upset over everything with Natasha, to keep looking at that picture. The phone was switched off and safely hidden away during one of Bucky's more colorful rants, resulting in a diatribe aimed at him for hiding the device. When Bucky had finally calmed down, Steve waited for another verbal attack, but he was met with a Bucky-shaped lump transfixed at the foot of his bed.

For a while thereafter, Steve's thoughts were decidedly unfriendly towards Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff. He was even struggling to think well of Clint Barton. They'd never been exactly close, but Clint was a part of their group. Until he showed up at the tryouts with Stark in tow, Steve had considered Clint a friend.

Given Bucky's unexpected history with the new girl and his current state, Steve felt obligated to treat their friendship as absolute. As long as this was the case, Clint and Natasha were to be kept at arms-length.

For Bucky's sake.

* * *

_This is all your fault. This is all your fault. This is all your fault. This is all your fault._

The mantra circled through Bucky's thoughts for hours after Steve had stolen his phone. There were variations, but _this is all your fault_, was the basic premise.

If he hadn't just abandoned Natasha, they might still be together.

If they were still together, there wouldn't be a picture.

Bucky kept telling himself this again and again, but his thoughts occasionally strayed when the memory of the image flashed unbidden across his mind's eye.

Seeing Stark's arm wrapped around Natasha's shoulder and his head resting against hers had been enough, but it was Natasha's reaction that made Bucky regret every choice he'd made over the last year.

Natasha's smile wasn't just a 'say cheese' kind of smile. It was genuine and even brighter than he remembered. Even ensnared in Stark's grasp, Natasha's radiant joy was ethereal. She looked every inch like the beautiful warrior goddess he fell for the day they'd met—the one he was certain he'd never stop loving.

The first few times he'd reached this conclusion, Bucky fought back with a fierce determination. By the morning, however, just the thought rendered him temporarily incapable of breathing.

_This can't be how it ends…_

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "i can't breathe" - Bea Miller


	20. Chapter 20

**Love is a Battlefield (The Ballad of Pepper Potts)**

_That boy has officially lost his damn mind…_

Very little went on at Marvel High that escaped Pepper Potts, and the latest scandal revolving around the new girl, Natasha Romanoff, was no exception. From the moment Pepper had crossed paths with the redhead, she knew it was only a matter of time until Tony spotted her and did what he always did.

Pepper had spent the entire first student council meeting studying her sometimes-boyfriend, looking for hints that he'd seen Natasha. By the end, she was convinced that it hadn't happened yet, but it was only a matter of time and that thought annoyed her.

She was keenly aware of Happy's little crush and was ashamed to admit that she enjoyed the attention, especially when her supposed-boyfriend's attentions were directed elsewhere. Before she'd even exited Happy's car on Tuesday morning, she knew that news of the new girl had reached Tony. While he might've fooled most with the mask of neutrality he had plastered across his face, he wasn't fooling her. If anything, it was painfully obvious. Without another glance at the gathering of Tony and his buddies, she turned on her heel and stormed off in the direction of the school.

Poor Natasha Romanoff. It wasn't her fault, but that didn't stop her from gaining an enemy that day—an enemy in the form of a sharp-minded and strong-willed strawberry blonde named Pepper Potts.

The first week of school passed quickly by for Pepper, who studiously avoided Tony all while keeping herself highly-informed of the current state of events. She'd heard all about Tony's fight with Bucky on the second day of school, of course, which troubled her once she learned of the Natasha-Bucky connection. An innocent comment from Bruce to Rhodey had made its way to Happy who, in turn, told Pepper of the incident in Nurse Parker's office and Tony's messages with Natasha later that night. Then there was the issue of the football tryouts, which was where Maria Hill came in.

Her friendship with Hill went back several years prior to the fracturing of their once-large group of friends. Hill might have been a permanent fixture in the Steve Rogers camp, but that was part of Pepper's plan. The two girls had decided to split up and take root in separate groups in hopes that they could subtly manipulate Steve and Tony into healing the rift between them.

Hill was the only person Pepper trusted to keep her secret when it came to her issue with Natasha and rightly so. Working of her own accord, Hill had immediately informed Pepper of the events at football practice that Friday and volunteered to try out since physical strength wasn't considered among the strawberry blonde's greatest gifts. And now, Pepper had her own spy on the football team.

And as the TA for Mr. Fury, Hill also had access to school info on everyone, including Natasha. While it hadn't come in handy yet, Pepper was sure it could be useful in the future. The only problem was that Hill only got the TA position because Mr. Fury liked her. Now, the taciturn teacher seemed to like Natasha, too. That didn't sit well with Pepper. The students Mr. Fury favored often had something in common—what that was, Pepper wasn't sure—and she feared that Natasha could likewise earn Hill's hard-won approval. But Pepper kept that thought to herself.

Even knowing more about the whole Natasha-Tony-Bruce-Bucky situation than the actual people involved, Pepper was still blindsided by the photo sent anonymously to her Saturday night. While she inspected the image on her phone's screen, she felt her stomach turn and bile rise up the back of her throat.

_That boy has officially lost his damn mind…_

Pepper had known Tony for most of his life. They went to the same elementary school and middle school, but it wasn't until high school that Tony was even aware that she existed. During the summer before ninth grade, puberty hit Pepper like a truck—something she used to her advantage when she walked into the Marvel High auditorium on the day of freshman orientation. Even as she glared at the photo on her phone, Pepper couldn't help but smirk at the memory of Tony's slack-jawed expression the first time he truly noticed her. It had been glorious.

After years of watching him, Pepper knew Tony detested boredom. She knew if she gave in too soon, she'd be cast aside without another thought. The best option was to ignore Tony, when she wasn't dazzling him with her brilliance in class, and it worked like a charm. They spent the entirety of freshman year engaged in a dizzying dance of wit—moves and countermoves—at least as far as Tony was concerned. Pepper, on the other hand, was the mastermind behind each and every interaction. It wasn't difficult after spending nearly a decade in the shadows of Tony Stark's light.

But Tony Stark was unpredictable at best. When Pepper finally "gave in" to his charms and attended prom with him for their first date as an official couple, she should've known her victory wouldn't last long. While the summer after freshman year was pure bliss, sophomore year marked the beginning of another type of cat-and-mouse game between them, only this game was out of Pepper's control. That's when breaking up and getting back together again and again became their "thing."

When they were together, Pepper was constantly worried about Tony's wandering gaze. When they were apart, she had to endure watching Tony fool around with a string of other girls that he always grew quickly tired of. There had been Maya Hansen, Christine Everhart (the school's gossip columnist and probably most annoying), Helen Cho, and—most recently—Hope van Dyne, which had ended pretty abruptly when Maria Hill unexpectedly befriended the rebellious daughter of Dr. Hank Pym.

And now there was Natasha…

Something was different—it gnawed at Pepper's gut, warning her that Tony's fascination with Natasha was unlike his previous flirtations. Even though they weren't officially broken up, Tony must've thought they were, or he wouldn't be pursuing Natasha like he was. And he was—regardless of what he might have told Clint and Bruce and whoever else. Pepper knew Tony better than he knew himself. Between the goofy smile on his face and the light shinning in his eyes as he posed beside his new obsession, Pepper knew—without a doubt—that Natasha was more than just a fleeting crush. And that thought filled her with unspeakable rage.

_That boy has officially lost his damn mind!_

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Love Is A Battlefield" - Pat Benatar & "Lost Yo Mind" - Beyoncé


	21. Chapter 21

**Bohemian Rhapsody (pt. 1) – The Intro**

_*"Angel of the Morning" by Juice Newton plays in the background. Wade Wilson sways in time to the melody while he mumbles along with the lyrics even if he is always just a half-second behind.*_

"Well, excuse me, Madam Narrator, if not all of us have the lyrics right in front of us. How would you like it if I told the readers what you were doing?"

(_Madam Narrator_: "That's really not necessary…")

"How about I do it anyway?"

(_Madam Narrator_: "Please don't…")

"Don't? So, you don't want me to tell the readers of this raging dumpster fire of a story that you've been holed up in bed for the past two days, wearing the same pair of sweats, consuming nothing but processed junk food while binge-watching _You_, and refreshing the statistics to check for new reader comments because you're desperate for external validation?"

(_Madam Narrator_: "That's not what I'm doing.")

(_to the narrator_): "Liar. (_to the readers_): That is totally what that train wreck of a 'writer' is doing. Don't listen to her. She is an absolute mess. And don't even get me started on her 'book.' (_to the narrator_): I mean, when was the last time you even worked on that thing? March 6th is going to be here before you know it and, yet, here you are, writing nonsense to avoid feeling like a failure. (_to the readers_): Did you know that Madam Narrator's spent ten years with the idea for her book stuck in her head and, just as was making significant progress, she put everything on hold because she's afraid no one will like it? (_aside_): What a loser…"

(_Madam Narrator_: "Oh, yeah? Well, you don't exist, so…there.")

"Um, rude. But for a writer, that was a pretty lame comeback. Besides, if I don't exist, then that means you're having an argument with yourself, so who's the loser, again?"

(_Madam Narrator_: "…")

"Come on, who's the wittle woser? Who? Who? Who?"

(_Madam Narrator_: *mumbles*)

"I'm sorry. I didn't catch that. Who's the wittle woser?"

(_Madam Narrator_: *sighs* "I am…")

(_to the narrator_): "And don't you forget it."

(_Madam Narrator_: *goes off to sulk in a corner, leaving Wade Wilson alone with the readers*)

(to the readers): "Ah, good. We're alone. It's like that one song: 'I think we're alone now, / There doesn't seem to be anyone around / I think we're alone now, / The beating of our hearts is the only sound.' And who doesn't love that 80s classic? Tiffany is my jam!

"Since I'm here, I can only guess that some shit is about to go down in the story. I've only been kinda following along with this derived trash, so bear with me.

"When we last saw our heroes and villains—and the other trillion characters Madam Narrator has absolutely zero chances of keeping a handle on—they were all whining about…who cares? Tony Stark likes Nat, but he likes Bruce (which I get; he's a handsome man) but only as a friend. Pepper Potts likes Tony, but she also likes Happy? And Happy likes her. Pepper definitely doesn't like Natasha. Bruce likes Natasha, and he's starting to like Tony less and less because of a big misunderstanding created by the nefarious Loki. Then there's Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. While half of Tumblr might wanna see those two crazy kids together, Madam Narrator decided to manufacture the hell out of some conflict by forcing Sir-90s-Grunge-Hair into a love triangle (square? Pentagon? Hexagon? Seriously, how many sides of this 'love' shape is there? I've got one of Madam Narrator's half-eaten cookies for anyone with the answer) with Natasha and the Science BrosTM. And what is so special about this Natasha girl? I've seen her. Sure, she's got a certain _je ne sais quoi_ that had me all _voulez-vous coucher avec moi_ for, like, two seconds, but I wasn't about to go all obsessed stalker on the poor girl like Barnes, Stark, or Banner practically are.

"Ugh, and I haven't even gotten to the boy in serious need of an education in feminism: Clint Barton. Or the whole thing with Carol Danvers and Valkyrie. Remember that? Not to mention my new bff, Petey Pie and his recent win in the freshmen election.

"And don't get me started on the in-your-face symbolism of the coming storm in chapter 19. Could Madam Narrator be anymore clichéd? And since she's incapacitated, I guess it's up to me to tell this part of the story.

"Based on her chapter title…seriously? 'Bohemian Rhapsody'? Could she _be _anymore of a pretentious snob? Geezus…ugh, whatever…fine! Looks like I got my work cut out for me. Oh well. Here goes nothing:

"Please allow me, Wade Wilson, to present a mini-arc story in five (five?! What the hell?) parts—'Bohemian Rhapsody.'

"Maximum effort!"

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Bohemian Rhapsody" - Queen


	22. Chapter 22

**Bohemian Rhapsody (pt. 2) – A Ballad **

Oh, hello, gentle readers, and welcome back to _Marvel High_. I'm your host: Wade Wilson.

I bet you've noticed the lack of quotations and wonder where they've gone. Well, the narrator is currently drowning her sorrows in a mountain of nachos, and I'm the narrator now. For the time being, anyway.

So, sit back and relax as I, Wade Wilson, presents: _Marvel High_'s mini-arc entitled "Bohemian Rhapsody (part two)—A Ballad."

_Dun-dun-dun._

* * *

By Monday morning, the storm of clichés had yet to let up. And you know what that means. As our characters get ready for their second week back to school, the dark clouds and heavy rainfall are supposed to be symbolic representations of the inner turmoil felt by our unending string of characters. You know what? Allow me to narrow the lens a bit, so we can see how each of these poor, oh-woe-is-me saps are doing on this cold and dreary morning.

First, let's take a journey over to the bad side of town and into the home of Bucky Barnes. He lives furthest from the school and, yet, is still lying in bed. Horribly decision, really. If he doesn't hurry up and get dressed, he's going to be late. He doesn't seem to care about that, though. If my narrator's intuition is correct, his thoughts are most likely on a certain redhead and his own broken heart. I wonder if I should tell him that he's only seventeen and he's being ridiculous. Would that be mean? Oh well, get a move on. Your part in this story isn't over…yet.

Across town, Bruce Banner's been up for hours. If that boy doesn't get some sleep soon, he's going to get cranky, and—trust me—you won't like him when he's angry. Right now, though, he's just staring at himself in the mirror, which is odd; I never pegged him for a narcissist. And—wait, what is he doing—now he's shrugging on a leather jacket. Boy, that is not a good look on you. I would never disrespect The Fonz, but Bruce in a leather jacket looks like a two-bit Fonzie wannabe, and he is _not_ pulling that look off at all.

Then there's Tony Stark. He's gotten even less sleep than his Science BroTM. He looks terrible. I'm talking circles under his eyes, sallow skin, and hair that looks like he lost a head-butting competition with a Hoover. I wouldn't be surprised if this Troll doll look-a-like started sprouting gray hair by the end of this arc.

According to the plot outline, Bucky's finally ready to go to school. He didn't change, so I'm sure he smells great, and he's taking his…motorcycle. In the rain… Terribly irresponsible. But as much as I'd like to watch that…maybe listen to some intense prog rock and describe his soulful ride in the rain like it's something out of an 80s movie complete with a montage of tracking shots, I still have to visit the Barton house and so many other places. Good luck Buck-o. Try not to die.

Where was I? Oh! That's right, the Barton house.

Clint and the object of almost everyone's affection, Natasha Romanoff, are sitting at the kitchen table with their untouched breakfast in front of them. For Clint, that's not much of a big deal. Natasha, on the other hand, has her first official football practice after school. Somebody should really tell homegirl that she needs to start carbo-loading if she doesn't want to drop dead of exhaustion later…and she's putting her uneaten bowl of cereal in the sink. First of all, how rude. Is she expecting the mother formally known as Mrs. Barton to clean up after her? Second, there are starving children in this world, Miss Romanoff, but you're comfortable wasting a perfectly good bowl of Cheerios? Despicable…

Clint's staring after her like a little creep.

"We riding together?" he asks, favoring brevity over grammar.

But Natasha is already out the door. She heard him, don't get me wrong, she was just ignoring him, and I don't blame her. As I mentioned before, she has football practice later. What is he going to do? Watch in the rain. Of course, you need to take separate cars, jackass.

A few miles away, Pepper Potts is preparing for battle. Her uniform: a crisp, white sundress (someone should tell her it's raining) coupled with a black, tailored trench coat (oh, so she knows…never mind). Her lips are perfectly lined and painted with an alarming shade of red lipstick, while her eye makeup is minimal. I guess she's going for the 'classy vixen' look…and it's working. (Don't catcall, Wade! Don't do it!).

As Miss Potts is marching down the stairs, Happy Hogan is sloshing up the walkway to her front door. He's armed with an extra-large umbrella. Three guesses who's it for. Happy gladly holds the umbrella for Miss Potts and holds the passenger side door open for her. Once inside, Miss Potts whips out her phone and begins firing a series of texts to her friend and flunky, Maria Hill.

Closer to school, Carol Danvers is waiting for Maria Rambeau. Take a lesson from these two environmentally-conscious young women: carpooling! While she waits, Carol traces her finger across the photo she received Saturday night. The picture zooms in until it's just her and Valkyrie's faces filling up the screen. I wonder why…ooh!

Steve Rogers is already at school, sitting in his car in the parking lot, because he is the only one not consumed by an egregious romantic obsession with…guess I spoke too soon. Turns out the little creeper gets there early every morning to watch Peggy Carter, the administration office's assistant, arrive for work. Tsk-tsk. Naughty boy.

Finally, there's my Petey. The good boy that he is, Peter Parker is already on the school bus, sitting next to…I wanna say Ned. They're both staring at me like I'm insane, and I'd like to ask them to stop.

"What are you doing?" Peter asks me.

I've taken over as the narrator of this story. Haven't you been listening to me?

Peter can only blink and shake his head in confusion. Poor, sweet, simple, Peter.

"I get it," MJ says, alerting my attention to her presence.

MJ is sitting in the seat behind Peter and Ned. I'm not quite sure what her role is in this story. If I had to guess, I'd say that the OG narrator was setting her up to be a romantic interest for Spidey-Pete, and I'm not sure how I feel about that.

"Why? You interested?" she asks me.

Don't know. I'm guessing it depends on what the readers want.

She nods like she understands, and I've decided that she's officially one of my new favorite people…or my enemy. One of the two, which means I didn't really decide anything.

Moving on!

With this part set, let's go ahead and take an even closer look inside the minds of these characters.

* * *

As Bucky weaved in and out of traffic, he lost himself to thoughts of Natasha: how they'd met, their relationship before junior year, how and why he'd left, and how everything had gone to shit with her once he'd returned. Some memories made him frown, while others caused his stomach to seize up from the guilt. The worse feeling was the sharp stabbing sensation in his heart when he thought of his most recent interactions with Natasha and of the photo he'd received on Saturday. When he thought of Stark, however, the pain gave way to blinding rage.

* * *

Bruce appraised his own appearance in the mirror. If Natasha had dated Bucky in the past, there was no chance she was into nerdy guys like himself. The jacket had belonged to his father, and it didn't fit. But if he wanted a chance with Natasha, he had to kill the part of himself that was self-conscious and afraid to act. As he headed out the front door, he said a silent farewell to his old self and gave in to his darker side.

* * *

Tony hadn't expected Bruce to return his text asking if he wanted a ride to school. Bruce hadn't returned any of Tony's texts and calls all weekend. Even so, he waited until the last possible minute to leave…just in case.

As he was about to leave the house, Tony's phone buzzed with a new text alert. When he checked it, his stomach dropped:

**Pepper Potts**: Text me when you get to school. We need to talk.

"Shit," he muttered.

(Potty mouth on that one, am I right?)

Tony pocketed his phone and headed out the door.

* * *

Natasha checked her rear-view mirror and spotted Clint's car a ways behind her. She rolled her eyes but smiled softly. When she pulled into a parking spot at school, Clint parked right beside her. As terrible as she felt after the photo disaster, Clint's persistent friendship made her feel a bit better.

* * *

Now that pretty much everyone is at school, let's zoom out a bit, shall we?

Allow me to set the stage: Steve is sitting in his car, having arrived early to creep on a grown woman named Peggy. Natasha and Clint are parked right next to each other, waiting for a break in this onslaught of rain or…who knows? Perhaps, they were waiting for Carol and Maria Rambeau, who just pulled into the spot beside them. And it looks like they have Valkyrie with them in the backseat.

Pepper is seated in the passenger seat of Happy's car. She's too busy texting to pay attention to his half-hearted attempts at flirting. Wait 'til Tony finds out.  
Speaking of Tony, look who just pulled in to the student parking lot. For a seventeen-year-old, the car he's driving is wildly inappropriate. Save that color and type for your midlife crisis, buddy.

The bus reserved for the vehicularly-challenged has arrived and is currently unloading. I've just gotten off, myself (got myself off, wink-wink), along with Peter, Neddykins, and the mysterious MJ. Even though I'd prefer to get out of the rain, two things just happened.

One: the roar of a motorbike tells me that Bucky has arrived, safe and sound.

And, two: the slightly softer roar of a much smaller bike leads me to believe that Bruce Banner has abandoned his sanity along with his old persona. Oh…and that he's arrived.

Bucky and Bruce park side-by-side in the stalls reserved for those types of vehicles. Naturally, everyone stares at the sight because no one expected Bruce to ever do something so un-Bruce-like. Even Bucky looks confused and then embarrassed for the poor kid. Rightly so, too.

While Bucky looks like a slick, glistening Adonis after his ride through the rain, Bruce looks more like a drowned sewer rat. Serves him right for not staying true to himself.

With everyone important finally in one place, I guess I should finally mention what our villain is doing.

Loki's inside, having recently transferred into Dr. Pym's class. From his seat, he has a perfect view of the student parking lot.

And an evil grin on his face.

_Dun-dun-dun. _

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Bohemian Rhapsody" - Queen


	23. Chapter 23

**Bohemian Rhapsody (pt. 3) – The Fandango**

_I see a little silhouetto of a man,_

_Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?_

Well, well, well, don't mind if I do.

Oh! You're back. Wade Wilson, again. Remember me? Madam Narrator is still otherwise occupied, so it's up to me to continue on with this story.

But first let me just say how offended I was by some of your comments. Madam Narrator has abandoned you all, leaving me to pick up the slack. If it wasn't for me—Wade Wilson—you would still be waiting for a chapter update of this nonsense stew. It would serve you all right if I just hopped on my unicorn, tracked you all down, and pulled a _Jay and Silent Bob Strikes Back_. I didn't tie up Madam Narrator and lock her in a closet just to have all the glory go to that—I've said too much…

Moving on!

In the last installment of the completely derivative _Marvel High_, a bunch of copyrighted characters that neither I nor Patty Hearst over there have any affiliation with had arrived at school. There was also something about an actual storm being symbolic for the inner turmoil felt by the aforementioned characters, which is the laziest of literary metaphors but whatever. Everything ended with an ominous close-up of Loki grinning, which is ridiculous. I'm allowed to invade the minds of whatever character I want, but I can't get in Loki's head? Is it because Madam Narrator has no idea what she's doing with him? Cause I think it is… But what do I know?

Now that we've Carried On with the Wayward Son-portion of this chapter, how about we get on with the regularly scheduled programing?

Without any further ado, allow me—Wade-McFreaking-Wilson, **_not_** Madam Narrator—to present the third installment of _Marvel High_'s "Bohemian Rhapsody" mini-arc entitled _The Fandango_.

Time to get weird!

* * *

As it happens, the evil grin is more of a default characteristic of Loki. There's no way he could predict what would happen next, which is nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Had you going there for a minute, didn't I?

That's right. Nothing happens.

Just because Loki has a plan and y'all know this is a story, doesn't mean the other characters do. They're teenagers for Jesús's sake, so they're painfully self-obsessed. For instance, right now, Bruce is sizing up Bucky, trying to be intimidating—bless his heart—and failing, because he thinks that will get Natasha's attention. The problem with that plan is that Natasha is on the other side of the parking lot, stuck in conference with Clint, Carol, Maria Rambeau, and Valkyrie, trying to figure out how the photo got leaked.

Tony Stark, on the other hand, is all too aware of his buddy's desperate attempt at a misguided self-makeover, but he's too busy to deal with it. Pepper Potts has just emerged from the passenger seat of Happy's car and is headed his way. Below her relaxed exterior demeanor, the statuesque strawberry blonde is simmering with a fury like Hell hath no, so I'm afraid the boy genius, Jimmy Neutron-looking m*therf*cker (…did I just get bleeped? What the hell? Go ahead and bleep me all you want; they know what I said…) is about to be too preoccupied to deal with his Science Bro better half.

And then there's Bucky. Poor, poor Bucky. He has no idea why Bruce is looking at him like this. Sure, Bucky's a handsome fella, so he's used to all kinds of staring, but Bruce isn't really his type. How is he supposed to know that Bruce is just as ill-fatedly obsessed with his ex-girlfriend as he is? Bruce wasn't in the picture that's been frozen on the computer screen of Bucky's mind's eye since Saturday night. He has zero context for this uncomfortable exchange!

* * *

"We need to talk," Pepper announced.

"Uh, yeah, I got that," Tony said, holding up his phone—a terrible idea, really, but he has no clue his on-again/off-again girlfriend is about to boil over with unspeakable rage.

Pepper frowned.

"Okay, okay," Tony acquiesced, holding his hands up in surrender. "What do we need to talk about?"

Pepper stared pointedly at Tony's car. Tony sighed. He walked around to the passenger side and held the door open, allowing Pepper to slide in. He walked back to the driver's side and got in.

"Homecoming," Pepper finally replied.

"Yeah? What about it?" Tony asked, searching the parking lot for Natasha.

"I'm going dress shopping this weekend, so I need to know the color of your accessories and of the corsage you plan to get."

"What? Why?" Tony stammered, his eyes darting back to Pepper's threatening smile.

"Don't be ridiculous, Tony. Of course, we're going together."

"Since when? I thought you were mad at me…"

Pepper rolled her eyes. "And why would you think that?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe cause you haven't spoken to me in a week."

Well, this isn't going well, is it?

"Tony," Pepper said with a sigh, "Tony, Tony, Tony. I'm not mad at you. I love you, silly. We both know how this goes. You do something outrageous or stupid, so I have to give you space for a bit. It doesn't change how we feel about each other, does it?"

Tony watched Pepper warily. "No, I guess not."

"You guess not?" Pepper repeated with a slight frown. "Tony, please tell me you didn't do something foolish like ask someone else to the dance."

Slowly, Tony shook his head. "No."

Pepper's frown disappeared, leaving a wide, bright smile in its place. "Good. So, colors?"

* * *

While Pepper was working her mind control on her boyfriend, Natasha and her group had come to the conclusion that the leak couldn't have been any of them. With that settled, Natasha surveyed the parking lot, looking for Tony. He needed to be informed about the latest update. Maybe he had some ideas (*spoiler alert*: he didn't).

Natasha's search finally ended when her gaze fell upon Tony sitting in his car. From her current position, she couldn't see the girl sitting in the passenger seat, which is probably why she felt comfortable enough to head that way.

Braving the rain, Natasha crossed the parking lot and was just about to approach Tony's car when she saw a white, well-manicured hand snake around the back of his head and pull him towards the passenger seat. With this new position and Natasha's new angle, she had a clear view of Pepper Potts capturing Tony Stark in a PG-13-rated kiss. For _some_ reason, the sight made Natasha's stomach drop.

She didn't have long to question her reaction because a loud crash captured her attention. Natasha looked in the direction of the commotion just in time to see Bruce lunge at Bucky.

* * *

A clash of lightning and the near-immediate roar of thunder masked the rumble of a car's engine as Mr. Fury peeled into the parking lot. He emerged from the hastily parked car, flew by Natasha's frozen figure, and broke up the Bucky-Bruce smackdown moments after it had begun.

"Don't you all have somewhere you need to be?" Mr. Fury said, turning his questioning glare towards the curious onlookers.

This included Tony Stark, who had exited his car after the sounds of fighting forced Pepper to release her hold on him. Tony was initially distracted by the scene of hostility before him and ignorant to the soaked redhead standing a few yards away. A flash of red caught his attention as Natasha turned away. Tony could only stare helplessly after her as Pepper came around on the other side to grip his hand with her own. That didn't stop him from catching Natasha's last glance at him, which broke his heart. Figuratively speaking, of course. Damn drama queen.

* * *

Natasha wandered mindlessly into the school, making her way towards her first period class with Dr. Pym. When she walked into the room, her eyes widened slightly when she saw a figure sitting in Bruce's seat.

"Um, that seat's taken," she said to the unfamiliar boy.

Natasha was met with a sweet, blue-eyed stare as the boy looked up apologetically at her.

"My apologies," the boy said with an innocent smile, "I didn't know."

Natasha felt her stomach flip a little at the musical quality of the boy's voice. She shook her head. "No. It's okay."

The boy looked around the room. "Would you mind if I stayed here until everyone else has arrived? Just so I don't make this same mistake again?"

Natasha glanced at the empty classroom. "Um, sure. I don't see why not."

She took a seat and the boy extended his hand to her. "I'm Loki, by the way."

Natasha took Loki's hand in her own. "Natasha. Natasha Romanoff."

She watched in surprise as Loki brought her hand to his lips and pressed a light kiss against her knuckles.

"Lovely to meet you, Miss Romanoff," Loki said with a warm smile, releasing her hand.

Soon, the classroom was full as students tried to beat the final bell. Natasha was concerned by the absence of her usual partner, something Loki seemed to notice.

"Your lab partner seems to be absent today," he noted.

Natasha strained to get a glimpse out into the parking lot, but it looked empty.

"He was here, but he got into a fight with…" she trailed off.

"Oh dear," Loki exclaimed. "Then I'm afraid he's probably not going to make it to class today. If he was in a fight and hasn't shown up yet, it probably means he's in the principal's office. They take fighting very seriously here."

Natasha's gaze flew to the door. "I guess that makes sense. Mr. Fury broke it up."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Miss Romanoff," Loki admitted falsely in the best sympathetic voice he could muster. "Well, we're supposed to work in partners today, and the only available seat is over there." He pointed to an empty table. "Perhaps, if I may be so bold, you would be willing to work with me today, since your usual partner has been inconvenienced? I could move, if you'd like, but I have a feeling Dr. Pym will just move me back."

Natasha considered this, forgetting to question how or why Loki would know any of this on his first day in that class. Quietly, she nodded.

"Yeah. That would be great. And, please, call me Natasha."

Loki smiled. "Natasha, it is, then."

* * *

Principal Ross stared down his nose at the two boys sitting across from him on the other side of his giant desk.

"Mr. Barnes, Mr. Banner, we meet again," he began. His bushy mustache twitched with every syllable. "We are only one week into the new year, yet you two seemed determined to cause trouble."

"But I—" Bucky protested, but his pleas were cut short by Principal Ross's raised hands.

"That's enough, Mr. Barnes. I gave you leniency after the situation with Mr. Stark because you acted in self-defense, but I find it hard to believe that this should be the case again. Please, give me one reason I shouldn't expel you on the spot."

Bucky shot Bruce a glare out of the corner of his eyes. Bruce looked away.

"It was my fault," Bruce finally admitted under the power of Principal Ross's hardened stare. "I started it."

"Well, that is surprising, Mr. Banner," the principal said, directing his stare at Bruce. "Wholly unexpected. Is this true, Mr. Barnes?"  
Bucky nodded, his gaze transfixed on Bruce's avoidant figure.

Principal Ross clapped his hands together. "Right then, it looks like you're safe from expulsion for now, Mr. Barnes. Unfortunately, I will have to add another week to your detention. As for you, Mr. Banner," he turned to Bruce, "since this is your first offense, we will also hold off on the subject of expulsion. Instead, you will be joining Mr. Stark and Mr. Barnes in detention for the next two weeks. Is that understood?"

Bruce nodded solemnly.

"Good. Now, I want both of you to report to Nurse Parker's office. Get yourselves cleaned up. It's a bit too late to attend your first classes, so make sure to get a note from Miss Carter at the front desk. You can give those to your respective teachers once first period is over. And don't forget to report to detention immediately after school. That is all," he finished, shooing them away.

Bucky and Bruce rose from their seats and left the office.

"Did they happen to mention what they were fighting about?" Principal Ross asked once the door had shut behind them, revealing Mr. Fury leaning casually against the wall.

The political science teacher frowned. "Something about a girl, I think. What else do boys that age fight about?"

"A girl?" Principal Ross mused. "How common. Find out what you can. It seems like we need to keep an eye on this situation."

Mr. Fury fought not to roll his eyes. "Yes, sir."

Principal Ross studied his subordinate, then nodded. "Right. You may go."

Without another word, Mr. Fury exited the office.

* * *

Ooh! Exciting, right? Not what you expected, right? Don't lie to me, or you'll end up like Madam Narrator.

Ugh—I shouldn't have said that. I should not have said that. Forget what I just said.

Anywho, I bet you can't wait for part four. It's sure to be a rockin' good time!

XOXO,

Wade Wilson.

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Bohemian Rhapsody" - Queen


	24. Chapter 24

**Bohemian Rhapsody (pt. 4) – It's a Hard Rock Life**

I think we all know how this goes by now, so…without much further ado…yadda, yadda, yadda…allow me, whether you like it or not, Wade-Getting-Sick-and-Tired-of-this-Schtick-Wilson to present part-who cares in the mini-arc of no-one-gives-a-crap…called…ugh… "It's a Hard Rock Life."

Let's just get this over with…

* * *

_Previously, on_ Marvel High:

_Braving the rain, Natasha crossed the parking lot and was just about to approach Tony's car when she saw a white, well-manicured hand snake around the back of his head and pull him towards the passenger seat. With this new position and Natasha's new angle, she had a clear view of Pepper Potts capturing Tony Stark in a PG-13-rated kiss. For some reason, the sight made Natasha's stomach drop. _

_She didn't have long to question her reaction because a loud crash captured her attention. Natasha looked in the direction of the commotion just in time to see Bruce lunge at Bucky. _

* * *

Bruce slumped down in his seat. Of course, he was the first one to arrive for detention. No matter what he put on, be it new clothes or a new personality, Bruce was still the same Bruce and not deep down, either. His Bruce-iness was lurking just below the surface, seep through his pores and manifest in a series of bumbling apologies and tripping over his own two feet. If he had any dedication to his self-inflicted character makeover, he would've at least shown up on time instead of fifteen minutes early.  
The door opened behind him, and Bruce froze. He relaxed only when the thumping of boots and the fluttering of a sports coat informed him that the interloper was Mr. Fury and not one of the two people Bruce was dreading. Then again, it was still Mr. Fury, so Bruce was still disinclined to continue on with his new lackadaisical attitude. With only five minutes left until the official start of detention, it was only a matter of time until they showed up anyway.

Tony was the first one to walk through the door. He strolled right past Bruce and handed a note to Mr. Fury. Even though his voice was low, Bruce could still make out Tony's reasoning for being a minute late.

"Sorry, Mr. Fury. I had to stop by the student council and let them know I wouldn't be there today. I have a note from the faculty advisor, sir."

Tony handed the slip to Mr. Fury, who received it with a curt head nod and a gesture to take a seat.

"Don't be sitting right next to each other. I know you two are friends, but this is detention not recess. You're supposed to be miserable."

Bruce muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?" Mr. Fury demanded, turning a cold eye in Bruce's direction.

"Nothing, sir," Bruce lied, sitting up straight.

For a moment, his gaze crossed paths with Tony's, but Bruce looked quickly away. After a moment's hesitation, Tony walked to the other side of the room and took a seat. He was as far away from Bruce as he could possibly get, with the ghosts of everything they needed to say filling up the space between them.

A few uncomfortable minutes later, Bucky entered. Clearly, he was not concerned with sneaking in quietly. His scuffed-up combat boots hit the floor with a series of heavy thuds. As if he was auditioning for the gender-Bender criminal in The Breakfast Club 2: The Brunch Club, Bucky plopped down into a seat near the back and kicked up his feet onto a nearby desk.

"You're late, Barnes" Mr. Fury announced without looking up.

Bucky grunted.

Tension radiated throughout the air, electrifying the silence in the room. The only sound was the agonizingly monotonous ticking of the clock that hung on the wall behind Mr. Fury. Bruce, Bucky, and Tony took turns warily eyeing one another. After 30 or so minutes of this, Mr. Fury stood suddenly.

"I'm going to my office for a bit. I'll be back. Stay put and keep your mouths shut. If I even think y'all moved an inch outta those seats, I will rain down hellfire on your collective asses. You hear me?"

All three boys nodded silently.

"I said, 'you hear me?'" Mr. Fury repeated.

He was answered with a chorus of 'yes sirs.' Satisfied, he flew out of the room without another word.

Mr. Fury had barely been gone for a fraction of a second when Tony jumped out of his seat and approached Bruce.

"Hey man," he said, crouching down in front of him, "what's up? What happened this morning?"

Bruce considered ignoring Tony, but his best friend's puppy dog eyes were incredibly persuasive.

"It wasn't a big deal," he replied.

Tony's brow furrowed. "Not a big deal? You started a fight. That isn't like you, man."

This annoyed Bruce. "Who are you to say what I'm like?"

"I'm your best friend, Bruce."

"Sure. Best friend. Here's the thing, though, before Saturday, I thought I knew you. Turns out…not so much. Who's to say the same isn't true now? Maybe you don't know me as well as you thought."

Tony visibly recoiled from Bruce's challenge.

"Don't say that," he whispered.

Bruce sighed. "Look, I believe you, but it doesn't mean that I have to like it. I just need some time to figure things out, you know?"

Reluctantly, Tony nodded.

"How long, do you think?" he asked.

"Tony!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but I miss you, buddy. And I hate to think that we could let a girl come between us, no matter how awesome she is."

Bruce frowned. "Natasha is special, though. I don't want her to come between us, but if we both like her, it's bound to lead to problems."

Behind them, Bucky snorted.

Tony looked past Bruce's shoulder. "Can I help you?"

Bucky, who had been looking at the wall, turned in Tony's direction.

"Nah," he replied. "I just think it's funny that either of you think you stand a chance with her."

Bruce twisted in his seat to get a better look at Bruce. Immediately, Bucky looked away. Tony watched the interaction with suspicion.

"You had your chance," Bruce said, narrowing his eyes. "Just because you messed it up doesn't mean you can take it out on us."

"Besides," Tony added, "after everything you put her through, a guy like you is probably the last thing she's looking for."

Bucky huffed, expelling a large gust of air through his nose. "She loved me, and I'm willing to bet that she still does."

"Maybe," Tony consented, "but she's smart, so I don't think she'll act on it. Natasha doesn't strike me as the type of girl to make the same mistake twice. Right, Bruce?"

Bruce nodded slightly in agreement, his eyes never leaving Bucky's face.

"Well," Tony said, breaking the silence, "I better get back to my seat before Fury gets back."

Tony walked back to his desk, keeping his attention on the unbroken staring contest between Bruce and Bucky.

Just as the tension was reaching a boiling point, Bucky sighed. "Thanks for earlier, by the way," he said quietly.

"No problem," Bruce replied.

"What happened earlier?" Tony asked, confused.

Bucky ignored him, but Bruce answered.

"You were right, Tony, fighting isn't exactly my style."

* * *

**[Earlier That Day]**

Bruce pulled into the parking lot, coming to a stop in the stall next to Bucky, who was watching him with amusement.

"Nice bike," Bucky grunted, but his smirk warned Bruce that the comment wasn't complimentary.

"At least it could never cause a massive accident, nearly killing innocent people, before I leave them for dead," Bruce answered nonchalantly.

Bucky took a step forward. "Take that back," he demanded.

Bruce took a step forward as well, closing the gap. "Make me."

Bucky's hands balled into fists, and Bruce prepared himself to take a punch. When it didn't come, Bruce looked up at Bucky.

"You're not worth it," Bucky claimed, shaking his head.

"I guess Natasha wasn't worth it, either," Bruce shot back.

Then, everything happened quickly. Bucky twisted around and hit Bruce with an uppercut to the stomach. Bruce staggered back, knocking over his bike, which fell with a loud crash. Bruce took a deep breath and lunged at Bucky, blind with rage. As his fists flew, Bruce thought about everything that had happened and everyone who had been hurt by Bucky as well as the whole fiasco with Natasha. In his anger, he threw punch after punch until a pair of hands pulled him off the other boy.

Later in the office, once he'd calmed down, Bruce found that he was appalled by his own behavior. Even worse, he knew he'd goaded Bucky into that fight and now the principal was threatening expulsion. Without thinking, Bruce spoke up, taking blame for the fight, in a move that surprised even himself.

* * *

**[Present]**

Bruce twisted around in his seat just as Mr. Fury rounded the corner and entered the classroom. He paused once he entered the classroom, taking time to look at the three delinquents with his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Y'all goof off while I was gone?" he asked.

"No, sir," all three replied.

"Good," Mr. Fury nodded. He glanced at the clock. "Banner, Stark, you can go. Banner, you were late, so you can make up the time now. And don't do it again, cause I don't wanna have to stay any later than I already have to. I have better things to do than babysit your dumbass."

Bruce and Tony rose from their seats and fled the classroom as quietly as they could.

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Bohemian Rhapsody" - Queen


	25. Chapter 25

**Bohemian Rhapsody (pt. 5) – Coda**

_Any way the wind blows…_

Hello, gentle readers, and welcome back to the fifth and final installment of _Marvel High_'s "Bohemian Rhapsody" arc.

As this portion of the story draws to a close, allow me to ask one simple question: did any of this matter? The storm—both literal and metaphorical—what was the point? And why were so many chapters devoted to just one day. Was it really that important? (Okay, so that's technically 3 questions, but they're all related. Sue me…).

Let's break it down:

First, we learned that Bruce thought changing himself to get Natasha's attention, which clearly didn't work. And that Pepper Potts is a master manipulator when it comes to Tony Stark. Is she a villain or just a girl in love? We also found out that Loki has transferred into Natasha's class and that he is a charming little shit when he wants to be. Then, there was some foreshadowing between Carol and Valkyrie that was about as subtle as Joe Goldberg's stalking techniques.

Second, there was the fight—the cause and consequences—between Banner and Barnes. Tony was there in detention with them, giving him a chance at reconciliation with his hetero life mate, Bruce. But that was it.

And therein lies the rub: nothing really happened…on the surface, at least. So, why? Were Madam Narrator and I just stalling for time? Perhaps.

Personally, none of this has anything to do with me, so I really couldn't care one way or the other.

(_Madam Narrator_: Ahem, if I may…?)

Son of a… How'd you get out—I mean, hello, Madam Narrator. Look everyone, Madam Narrator has returned.

(_Madam Narrator_: Very funny, Wade. You're not fooling anyone.)

I have no clue what you're talking about, ma'am.

(_Madam Narrator_: That's because, for a semi-intelligent, sentient character, you've been more obsessed with pop culture references and snark than on what really matters.)

Excuse me? Semi-intelligent?

(_Madam Narrator_: Did I stutter?)

Okay. Wow. Rude.

(_Madam Narrator_: *sighs* Listen closely, Wade. You were a distraction. You may think you got one over on me, but the truth is that I let you take over.)

Oh, really?

(_Madam Narrator_: Yes.)

Why?

(_Madam Narrator_: That's for me to know and you, as well as the readers to find out, because the fact of the matter is this: the one day on which this arc has focused is more important that you would like them to believe. Everything that happened matters more than you know.)

Somehow, I doubt that, Madam Narrator, I really do. If any of this really mattered, I would've figured it out.

(_Madam Narrator_: Maybe you should go back and re-read anything. You know, take a silent moment to analyze and reflect.)

Maybe I will…

(_Madam Narrator_: *rolls her eyes* Go ahead; I'll wait...)

*Goes off and re-reads the entirety of the "Bohemian Rhapsody" arc.*

*Jeopardy theme music plays…*

…

…

…

*Comes back, wide-eyed and dazed*

Oh…

(_Madam Narrator_: Yeah…)

You sneaky bastard…

(_Madam Narrator_: *shrugs, smirks*.)

I guess I'll let you take it from here, then. Ladies and gentleman, it's been a real blast, but please allow me to present the one, the only: Madam Narrator!

* * *

Wade asked why this arc mattered—why this day was so important—and the answer is this: **_Loki_**.

Go back and you'll see. Everything matters but, like the _Now You See Me_ tagline suggests: Look closely, because the closer you think you are, the less you will actually see.

As we draw to a close, so does the storm of the day; however, I must warn you, any sense of calm you may find in the coming chapters is only an illusion. We have entered the eye of the storm, so don't be deceived by the peaceful breeze.

A storm is coming, and it will be unlike anything we've seen so far.

You've been warned.

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Bohemian Rhapsody" - Queen


	26. Chapter 26

**Cherry Bomb**

Natasha had a problem. Or maybe it was a conundrum, a dilemma, a predicament, an imbroglio, a pickle, if you will. At that very moment, she was loitering near the end of the lunch line, tray in hand, with her head on a swivel as she deliberated over which direction to walk. Going left would put her at Steve Rogers's table with Clint, Carol, and the rest of the football team, but it would also put her next to Bucky. Going right would put her at Tony Stark's table, but Bruce was there, and that was a whole sticky situation she wasn't sure she was prepared to handle at that moment, especially after the fight between him and Bucky the day before, not to mention the look on Bruce's face when he'd arrived in class earlier that morning to find his seat taken by Loki again. Him sitting with her that first day must have been kismet because of the partner-based project they were tasked with. Now, Loki would be her lab partner for the next few weeks, while Bruce was stuck working with a weird tech kid named Viz.

It was only the second day of the second week of school. How did everything get so complicated so quickly?

Matters only got worse when members from each table spotted her and began beckoning her in two separate directions. Her stomach turned and, suddenly, she didn't feel too hungry.

"Whoo! You stink."

Natasha twisted around to find Loki standing directly behind her. She frowned. "Excuse me?"

Loki grinned. "You reek, Miss Romanoff. You reek of indecision."

He was teasing her and, once she realized it, Natasha snorted. "Very funny."

"What seems to be the problem?" he asked.

"Not quite sure where to sit," she replied.

"Ah." Loki took a step forward, bringing him parallel to her side. "An awkward affair, I'm sure, but one every high school student has struggled with before. Tell me, which way are you leaning?" His eyes followed Natasha's line of sight as it jumped back and forth between Steve Rogers's and Tony Stark's tables. "Ah," he repeated.

"Honestly, I'm not sure I'm all that hungry anymore," Natasha admitted.

"What? Not hungry?" Loki smirked sideways at her. "A growing girl like you? And a soon-to-be football star, no less. Surely, you must be hungry."

Natasha groaned.

"Given that you find yourself equally torn between two options, might I make another suggestion?" Loki asked.

Natasha raised her eyebrows, silently waiting for him to continue.

"Forget lunch and come with me," he said.

Laughing, Natasha turned back to stare at the two tables on opposite sides of the cafeteria. "So, instead of only two options, now I have a third to add to my quandary. And since you're right here, I now have the added consequence of causing offense. How is that supposed to help?"

Loki pretended to mull over her question. "Hmm," he mused, tapping a long, pale finger on his chin. He clapped his hands together. "Beats me. Enjoy the rest of your day, Miss Romanoff. Allow me to wish you the best of luck in your decision regarding this lunchtime debacle."

He was striding away when Natasha called out after him.

"Wait!"

Loki stopped and turned. He was standing directly in front of her, only inches away. When Natasha took a deep breath, her olfactory senses went into overdrive. Loki smelled like eucalyptus, sandalwood, and spearmint. It was intoxicating. Her mind went blank.

"Yes?" he asked, waiting patiently with a slight smile on his face.

Natasha shook her head, struggling to regain control of her faculties. "What, ahem, what did you have in mind?"

Loki's half-smile widened into a full grin. "So glad you asked, Miss Romanoff. Come on, then." He took her free hand in his and turned back towards the entrance.

"But what about…" she trailed off, looking down at her lunch tray.

"Leave it," he called out, not bothering to look back as he started pulling her across the cafeteria.

Natasha barely managed to abandon her tray on a nearby table without making too much of a mess before she found herself practically trotting to keep up with him. She tried to focus on the wide entrance looming in front of them to avoid thinking about the dozen or so pairs of eyes watching her as she fled the cafeteria with Loki.

Natasha continued to let Loki lead her by the hand even after they'd left the lunchroom and exited the school. He was much taller than her and his long strides made it difficult to keep up. She was content to hang on for the ride.

They came to a stop in front of a sleek car that looked black in present light but was dark green on closer inspection. It was shiny and looked even more expensive than the one Clint's mother and step-father purchased for her, which was saying something. He held the door open for her, claiming that his mother raised him to "_be a gentleman_," and she found that it still had that new car smell. When he climbed into the driver's side, however, the new car smell was replaced by his enticing aroma. It filled up the car, making her ability to think go all wonky. Natasha decided to just sit back and relax as she tried not to think about how she had just been—for lack of a better word—kidnapped by a boy she'd met only yesterday. She could still feel the ghost of his hand on hers as he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

"So, where are we going exactly? You never actually answered my question, you know."

"Patience, Miss Romanoff. All in good time," he replied with a chuckle.

"As exciting as all of this is, I think I'd prefer knowing if it's not too much to ask. I mean, I barely know you."

Loki nodded though his grin never wavered. "Yes, I apologize if that was rather sudden. We had to move quickly, however, as you were only moments away from getting caught in a somewhat sticky situation."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Mr. Barnes and Mr. Stark were both preparing to come and steal you away for themselves, though I cannot say that I would blame them," Loki said, glancing sideways at her while he did.

"Huh?"

Loki chuckled again. "You, Miss Romanoff, are…how did he put it…oh, yes, a 'snack,' and it would seem that several of the young men in the upper echelons of our school's social ranking are more than interested in taking a bite if you catch my meaning," he explained. "Although, if you ask me, I think he was wrong; you're not a 'snack' at all. In continuing with the food analogy, I'd much sooner call you a 5-course meal from a 5-star Michelin restaurant, but that's just me," Loki added with a wink.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but her mind was stuck on a pronoun he used. "Who's 'he'?"

"My brother, of course," he answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Your brother?"

"Yes. My brother, Thor."

Natasha's eyes widened as she turned in her seat to get a closer look at Loki. She knew Thor from several meetings at lunch and football, but the boy in the driver's seat looked nothing like the behemoth blond. They both had long hair, but that's where the similarities ended. Thor was built like a massive dump truck with muscles piled upon muscles, while Loki was thinner and lean with sinewy muscles that lurked under pale skin. Everything about Thor was brutish, and he seemed to take up as much space as humanly possible. Natasha secretly imagined that if he got any bigger, Thor would develop a gravitational pull and objects would start orbiting around him. Loki, on the other hand, appeared more unassuming while still carrying himself in a regal manner. Thor was loud and dim-witted; Loki was quiet and intelligent. The list went on and on.

"Your brother?" she repeated, completely unable to comprehend that fact.

"That is what my parents tell me, anyway. I understand your bewilderment, however. I often find myself wondering if I was inadvertently switched at birth. I take responsibility for your confusion. I must have forgotten to mention my last name when we met yesterday. Please, allow me to apologize and rectify my transgression." Loki held out his right hand and took hold of her left hand. While keeping half of his attention on the road in front of him, he brought her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips against her knuckles as he had done the day before. "Loki Odinson, at your service, Miss Romanoff."

Natasha was never one to blush but a peek in the rearview mirror reminded her that things change. Her cheeks were nearly as red as her hair.

She awkwardly cleared her throat. "Ahem. Wow, um, wow. Your hands are ice cold, did you know that?"

Loki released her hand, allowing it to fall gently back into her lap. "That, Miss Romanoff, is because I am a vampire."

Natasha blinked. "Huh?"

His eyes flashed sideways at her while the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "A joke, Miss Romanoff. It was only a joke. I was testing your taste in literature."

After a moment, Natasha asked, "did I pass?"

"With flying colors," he replied. "I always run a bit cold, though," he added. "It's as my mother has always said: 'cold hands, warm heart.'" Something about his angular features softened as he mentioned his mother, and Natasha smiled.

"I like that," she said.

"As do I, Miss Romanoff. As do I."

When they finally came to a stop, Natasha was surprised to see a concrete building with blacked-out windows and a single red door.

"Where are we?" she asked.

Loki said nothing but hopped out and was opening the passenger door before she'd had a chance to remove her seatbelt. He held out his hand and helped her out of the car. Natasha tried to stifle a wayward giggle when he held out his arm, wiggled his eyebrows, and said, "milady." She linked her arm with his and walked through the red door at Loki's side.

The room they entered was dimly lit and seemed to be pulsating with magnetic energy. Circular booths covered in crimson-colored crushed velvet were scattered around the room. The tables were deep mahogany and each one was topped with a single votive candle. The bar on the far side of the room was made of the same wood and stocked with a wide range of amber-colored bottles with vintage labels.

A bar. Loki had brought her to a bar.

"Are we allowed to be in here," she whispered.

"I think you'll find that, with the right attitude, you can go anywhere, Miss Romanoff."

Loki guided her past the booths and the bar, pulling her further and further into the room. When they reached the opposite wall, he ushered her through a set of crimson-colored velvet drapes and into a second secluded room.

The back room wasn't empty. Much like the first room, there was another circular booth with the same coloring and construction and another bar. It would have been frighteningly intimate if Natasha hadn't spotted two figures already sitting in the booth.

"Loki?" she whispered as the two figures watched them approach.

"Trust me," he purred.

Even with an unsettled feeling in her stomach, Natasha allowed Loki to lead her towards the occupied booth.

"Wanda, darling, and Pietro, how do you do?"

Now that they were directly in front of the booth, Natasha could see the two figures more clearly. They appeared to be teenagers, approximately the same age as Loki and herself. The girl, Wanda, had dark, long hair that fell to the middle of her back. Her eyes were lined with thick mascara and eyeliner, while her lips were painted a deep scarlet. The boy, Pietro, had dark hair as well, but the shaggy ends were tinged with light silvery-white streaks. Despite his youth, he had advanced stubble covering every inch of his square, chiseled jawline. They both wore leather jackets; Wanda's was few shades darker than the red material that lined the booth she was sitting in, and Pietro's was simply black.

They both nodded at Loki's greeting, so Natasha assumed they were at least acquaintances of his. She was still hesitant to slide into the booth when he tried to help her in. Not wanting to cause a scene, she acquiesced to his nonverbal request, uncomfortably aware of Wanda and Pietro's silent stares.

When they were settled, Loki leaned back, stretching his long arms out to rest on either side of the booth's cushioned backing, effectively putting his arm around Natasha's shoulder—if only technically. She found herself leaning into him given the alternative of sitting too close to the two strangers who had yet to utter a word.

"Wanda, Pietro, allow me to introduce Miss Natasha Romanoff. She's new to Marvel High."

"So," Wanda finally spoke, "you're Natasha Romanoff."

"We've heard all about you," Pietro added.

They both stared at her like she was prey, and she remembered what Loki had said about Thor's comment—about her being a 'snack.' Natasha swallowed past the lump in her throat.

"Nice to meet you," she said, smiling hesitantly.

Wanda and Pietro looked at one another then back at her. They both smirked.

"Likewise," they said simultaneously.

After a moment of thick silence, Loki hopped up. "Now that that's settled, how about I go get us some drinks."

Natasha looked up at him with mild alarm. "I don't drink."

Loki fixed her with a playful yet challenging stare. "Come on, Miss Romanoff. Live a little."

He didn't wait for her answer. Instead, he disappeared through the curtains. Natasha watched him leave and turned back to see Wanda and Pietro watching her. She swallowed again, her anxiety rising.

"Calm down, Miss Romanoff," Wanda said. "We don't bite."

Pietro laughed darkly. "I think what my sister meant to say, is that we don't bite…hard."

Natasha was struck by the theatricality of it all. Suddenly, she wasn't nervous because it was clear that they were just messing with her. This was a test, and she was failing.

"That's a damn shame," she replied.

Wanda raised an eyebrow. "Is it now?"

Natasha said nothing. Rather, she allowed one corner of her mouth to curve upwards into a smirk. She winked.

Wanda and Pietro looked at one another and started laughing.

"Did I miss something?" Loki asked as he re-entered the room carrying a tray of drinks.

Natasha tried to act casual, but she kept her focus on the strangers in the booth with her. Loki took the drinks off the tray and placed two in front of each of them before tossing the tray behind him without another look.

"I like this one," Wanda told Loki as she continued to stare at Natasha.

"Good. Me too," Loki replied, sliding back into the booth. When he leaned back this time, he didn't bother with the pretense of draping his arms on the back of the seat. Instead, he allowed one arm to rest lightly around Natasha's shoulders and pushed a drink her way with his free hand.

Natasha hesitated at first but followed suit as Loki, Wanda, and Pietro each held up a glass.

"To new friends," Loki said.

"To new friends," Natasha repeated, chiming in with Wanda and Pietro.

While the others downed their drinks in one go, Natasha sipped at hers. She'd never drake alcohol before; she was nervous.

Loki leaned over and whispered in her ear, "you don't have to drink if you don't want to."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wanda and Pietro watching her, silently judging her. She steeled herself for the burn and downed the rest of her drink in one gulp. The alcohol burned going down but the muted cheers from those surrounding her made the pain worth it.

By the time the lunch hour was nearly up, Natasha found she quite liked the burn and warm tingling sensation that rippled underneath her skin. She also found that she didn't mind having Loki's arm draped around her shoulder. It made her feel warm on the outside while the alcohol worked its magic within. When Loki regretfully announced that they needed to go if they wanted to make it back to class on time, Natasha realized she didn't want to leave.

"Come on, Loki. Let's stay," she pouted.

"Miss Romanoff, you surprise me. Are you quite sure?" he asked, leaning in closer as if they were conspiring together. It didn't faze Natasha when Loki's face was mere inches from her own; instead, she licked her lips and nodded.

"Mm," Loki mused. "Your wish, my command, darling."

He closed the gap between them.

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "Cherry Bomb" - The Runaways


	27. Chapter 27

**Bad Reputation**

Rumor Has It…

By Christine Everhart

_Week two of the new school year kicked off with a bang! A few bangs, as a matter of fact. Rumor Has It… that blue-eyed dreamboat Bucky Barnes returned from a year abroad, and while he could not be reached for comment, it would seem that Mr. Barnes is far more interested in a certain new girl _(see pg. 6) _than making amends for his disappearance resulting in Marvel High's disappointing football season last year. When Mr. Barnes isn't too busy making googly eyes at a certain senior transfer, he's putting that strapping arm of his to other more nefarious uses, namely fighting with playboy Tony Stark and his buddy Bruce Banner… _(cont'd. on pg. 6).

[Page 6]

Rumor Has It… (cont'd.)

_The real talk of the town is senior transfer student Natasha Romanoff. Not only has the new girl caught the eye of Bucky Barnes, she also seems to have made an impression on serial womanizer Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, and now the mayor's youngest son. _

_Sources say that Miss Romanoff was spotted leaving the lunchroom Tuesday on the arm of Loki Odinson, but neither of them were seen for the rest of the day. Another informant claims that the two were spotted at the infamous Red Room bar along with the trouble-making Maximoff twins. _

_Yikes! Not a great start for Miss Romanoff. Someone might want to have a friendly, little chat with her before she gets a reputation. _

* * *

Natasha put the school paper down with a huff.

"I don't see what the big deal is," she told Clint.

"You don't see what the big deal is?"

Natasha shrugged. "Aside from her attempt to slut-shame me, not really…"

"Attempt? She didn't attempt, Nat, she succeeded. Everyone's talking about you, and it isn't good."

"Pfft. Let 'em," she said with another shrug. "I didn't do anything wrong except cut a few classes, and you're the _last_ person who should be lecturing me about _that_."

"Nat," Clint murmured, kneeling in front of her, "Loki's bad news. You shouldn't be hanging around with him. It's not gonna lead anywhere good."

"Seriously? Are you still on that? What happened to letting me make my own decisions? We just had this conversation several times last week. Tony, remember? Come on, Clint, I feel like we're talking in circles. Stop trying to control everything I do!"

"That's different," Clint claimed. "Tony has his issues, yeah, but Loki's on a whole other level."

"Well, he was a perfect gentleman to me."

"Oh really?"

"What?"

Clint threw his hands up in the air. "You stumbled home drunk at 3 in the morning with a hickey!"

Natasha rose from her seat. "Now who's slut-shaming me?"

Clint rolled his eyes. "You know it's not like that."

"No, Clint, I'm not sure I do." Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. "You party all the time. You drink at those parties. You've hooked up with your fair share of girls. But I do it one time—_one time_—and you completely lose your mind."

Clint's jaw dropped. "You hooked up with him?"

"No," she replied quickly. "All we did was kiss. It was fun. I'm seventeen. I'm allowed to have fun."

It hadn't looked possible, but Clint's jaw dropped even further. "Fun? Did you even read the article?"

"You just watched me read it, you asshat."

"Are you—"

"Clint Barton," Natasha interrupted. "If you ask me one more stupid question or make another insinuation about my activities or character, I will rip your intestines out through your urethra, am I clear?"

The room was quiet as Clint shut his mouth. He stared at Natasha for a long time.

"Dude…" he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "That's messed up."

Even though they were in the middle of what seemed like an endless series of fights about her personal life, Natasha couldn't help but smirk. Soon, they were both chuckling at the intensity and the sheer hysterical image her threat had conjured. As their laughter died down, Natasha wandered over to her bed and plopped down face-first.

"I know you're worried about me, Clint, I really do," she mumbled into the mattress, "but I just need to let off some steam now and again. That doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing, and it doesn't give you the right to interfere. You gotta stop playing the protective, big brother role and just be my friend." She raised her head and propped herself up with one arm. "Listen closely, the next time we have this conversation, I will not hesitate to…you know," she finished, narrowing her eyes and wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Clint scoffed. "Fine."

Natasha nodded. "Good. Now that we're done with round three of this nonsense, I believe you owe me a sundae or something for putting up with it."

He grumbled but led the way out of Natasha's bedroom.

* * *

After she finished reading the article, Pepper laid the paper down and wrinkled her nose distastefully. She looked across the table to find Tony still reading, a troubled look on his face. When he finally put the paper aside, she watched him struggle to meet her gaze.

"So," she said, finally breaking the silence between them, "should I be concerned?"

Tony looked briefly at her and snorted.

"You know you can't believe a damn thing Everhart writes. She's a gossip columnist. That should answer your question."

"Yet, somehow it doesn't," Pepper replied.

Tony stood abruptly up and paced around his empty kitchen. He'd been riled up since Tuesday. It was now Saturday morning, and Pepper couldn't ignore his behavior anymore. Ever since the new girl left with Loki, Tony seemed distracted. For the rest of the week, Pepper hid her thinly veiled rage behind a practiced mask of concern for her boyfriend and his wandering eyes, but enough was enough.

"I don't know what to tell you, Pep," Tony sighed. "You wanted to get back together, so I did that. I know I'm not the perfect boyfriend, but I've never given you reason to believe that I'm untrustworthy."

Pepper opened her mouth, but Tony cut her off.

"As much as you like to believe otherwise, so save it, please. I've never cheated on you. Have I dated other girls? Sure, tons. But that was only when we weren't together." Tony stopped and leaned against the counter, his head hung in frustration. "I don't even understand why you wanted us to get back together. It's not like you don't have other options, and I never seem to make you happy. I feel like nothing I ever do is good enough for you, Pep."

Pepper rose and walked around the table. She wrapped her arms around his waist and nuzzled his ear.

"Don't say that," she cooed.

Tony sighed. "Then tell me what to say. Please."

Pepper pressed her lips to his temple, and Tony closed his eyes.

"Do you have feelings for her?" she asked.

Tony's eyes remained closed, but the lines on his face deepened.

"We're just friends," he groaned.

Pepper frowned at his evasive reply but continued placing kisses here and there, his neck, his jawline, his collarbone, pushing him towards another kind of response. She finally got it when she nipped at his earlobe. Tony moaned, and Pepper backed away, leaning against the opposite counter. Tony's eyes fluttered open at her absence.

"Just, please, tell me what you want, Pepper," he sighed, defeated. "I'm sick of having this conversation over and over again. Just tell me what to do to make you happy, and I'll do it."

Pepper pretended to mull his offer over as she played with the top buttons on her blouse. As soon as she knew she had his attention, she hummed while she flicked the first one opened. He watched her with wary yet fixed attention as she undid each of her buttons one by one.

"Maybe," she mused, "it would help if you steered clear of that girl for a while."

Tony dragged his eyes away from her hands, which were lingering on the final button.

"What?"

Pepper sighed, clutching her top closed. Tony looked briefly down at the movement but quickly refocused.

"It's just that things haven't been so solid between us lately, and with that article," Pepper looked pointedly at the school newspapers still sitting on the table, "people are going to talk…more than they already are. I shouldn't have to spend my days defending our relationship, especially when I'm defending it to myself." She crossed the short distance between them, once more toying with the final button. "We've shared something very special, Tony, but it's hard to keep giving myself to you when I'm constantly worried that you're thinking about another girl. That's not very fair to me, is it?"

Tony hung his head again. "No," he agreed reluctantly.

"It doesn't have to be forever, Tony," Pepper continued. "Just until we're back on solid ground and all of those pesky rumors die down." She kissed the hollow spot behind his ear. "I would never dream of trying to control who you hang out with, but this is necessary. Temporary, but necessary. Can you do that? For me?" she breathed the final question, enjoying the look of need on Tony's face.

After a stretch of silence, he nodded.

"Mm," Pepper moaned, kissing Tony's neck. "Thank you, Tony. Now, what do you say we put this business behind us and do something a bit more fun?"

Tony warily watched as she undid the final button.

* * *

Later, Tony was woken from an unpleasant dream by his phone buzzing. He rolled over and retrieved it from the nightstand to find a text from Natasha.

_Hey Stark! Where have you been hiding all week? Clint's taking me out for ice cream, and I was hoping you'd join us. It's hard to believe, but I kinda missed your infuriating charm the last few days._

Tony looked back at Pepper's still form beside him. He knew her well enough to know that just because it looked like she was sleeping, didn't mean it was true.

_Sorry, Natasha_, he thought solemnly.

Tony swallowed past a lump in his throat and hit the "delete" button.


	28. Chapter 28

**Blue Skies, Bright Sides, and Invisible Know-It-Alls**

_**Part One: Mr. Blue Sky** _

Ever since Tuesday, Loki had been walking around with a smile on his face and a song in his heart. Somewhere in the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind, a little voice was yelling at him, warning him that his altered attitude had nothing to do with the plan. He ignored the voice. What did it know?

It had been a fantastic week.

Tuesday with Natasha had been amazing, not because she was funny, smart, and a good kisser—or so he kept telling the irritating, little voice—but because of the results, which were deliciously drastic and a vital part of his scheme.

He pointed all of this out to the little voice on Wednesday when he saw the frowns, creases of worry, and flashes of jealousy on several faces of his insipid little pawns. Banner's reaction had been especially glorious when Loki greeted Natasha in class that morning. He made sure to shoot the hopeless nerd a salacious smirk when he cozied up to the redhead as they took turns with their microscope.

He pointed it out again on Thursday when he noticed Stark staring longingly at Natasha but pretending not to whenever Miss Potts was nearby. And again when Natasha grew exceedingly concerned with Stark's avoidance of her. Loki made sure to sound as supportive as possible when she texted him about her feelings on the matter and her annoyance with Barton's reactions to her behavior, but he grinned like a shark the entire time.

On Friday, he'd all but beaten the stupid voice into submission when he went all day without a text after a particularly quiet period in class, and something squirmed in his gut like a snake. He ignored it, but the feeling happened again later that day when he read that stupid article by Miss What's-Her-Face…. Sure, he liked that the entire school new, and it was useful for his plan, but he was reminded of his stiff competition for—

No, that was ridiculous. He squashed it and chalked his response up to concern over his plan. Natasha's silence probably had to do with her idiotic need to play hard-to-get or something girly like that.

The excuse didn't hold up as well when he went all of Saturday without a word from her. It was nearly shattered when he intercepted her text to Stark. But, when the playboy deleted the message without a reply, Loki was able to convince himself that his reaction was based on the fact that he needed everyone deeply divided and Natasha's attempt at contact risked messing everything up.

By Sunday, Loki's mood had rebounded. Between the beautiful weather and a surprise text from Natasha asking him how his weekend was going, he was feeling pretty good about himself. The mood persisted throughout the day when a quick check of Natasha's messages revealed that she hadn't sent or received a text from anyone important. It persisted all night and endured while he got ready for the new week.

Unfortunately, he wasn't prepared for what would happen Monday.

That damn day hit him like a shovel to the face.

* * *

**_Part Two: Mr. Brightside_**

Ever since Tuesday, Bruce had been in a foul mood. Watching Natasha leave with that bastard Loki did something to him.

_Of course, she'd like him_, he thought again and again. _He's all dark and dangerous, just like Barnes_.

Bruce had been so concerned with Natasha's ex and Tony's interest, he hadn't accounted for outside threats, and Loki was definitely a threat. That was all but confirmed when Natasha didn't show up for Russian Lit. His anxiety only increased when he overheard that Natasha skipped football practice.

Everything got worse on Wednesday when the rumor mill caught wind of the situation, not to mention Loki's pointed expression in class that morning.

Threatening, indeed.

Bruce tried to tune everything out, but it seemed like the whole "Natasha and Loki situation" was the only thing anyone wanted to talk about. Thankfully, Tony seemed disinclined to mention it, even if Bruce caught him staring at the object—or, subject, rather—of their affections.

For the first time, Bruce sympathized with Tony. Things were still strained between them, but he knew deep down that he'd rather Natasha be with Tony than Loki. That surprising revelation did nothing to quell Bruce's worried mind when he inadvertently heard what a good portion of the school was saying about Natasha.

After spending the last few days green with jealousy, Bruce was seeing red.

* * *

Pepper had watched him all week after the incident with Natasha and Loki.

_Loki_, Tony growled at the very thought of that manipulative bastard. Nothing good could come of his interest in Natasha, of that Tony was certain. Still, with Pepper's uncanny ability to pop up whenever he got close to Natasha, he had no way of warning her. Briefly, he considered talking to Barton, but Pepper put the kibosh on that, too. Tony convinced himself that Barton was well aware of Loki's reputation and would put a stop to it. But the look on Barton's face did little to put Tony at ease, especially when he remembered Natasha's reaction to their previous interference in her personal life.

Tony spent Sunday alone. Pepper had gone home after spending Friday night and the entirety of Saturday messing with his head and warping his will. He knew exactly what she was doing; he wasn't stupid. Between his precarious friendship with Bruce, his promise to Natasha about interfering, his unsteady alliance with Barton, and his own carnal desires, Tony resigned himself to her control.

_The coward's way out_, he thought bitterly.

* * *

If Bucky heard one more disparaging remark about Natasha, he was going to lose it. How dare any of these self-righteous, holier-than-thou, douche-canoes say a single word against her! He was absolutely livid.

And Barton! Stark! Banner! Those three idiots must only be pretending to care about Nat. What other excuse did they have for doing nothing when she traipsed off with that spineless rodent. Although, if he was being honest with himself, a part of Bucky was also furious with Natasha for going with Loki, but he couldn't stay mad at her no matter what she did.

…Or so he thought.

Once Bucky realized that no one planned on looking out for her, he'd stolen away and followed them to the Red Room. Since that day, everything was red, and it all boiled down to a kiss.

If Bucky thought his heart was broken before, he knew it had to be obliterated after watching Loki put his hands and lips on Natasha. Bucky didn't stick around after that. He'd stumbled mindlessly out of the bar and retched almost immediately. When the fresh air cleared his head, he keyed Loki's car and returned to school.

Of course, Steve noticed his disappearance. He was the only one, though. Bucky could tell that his best friend wanted to ask him about it but knew to wait until Bucky was ready. When Natasha texted Steve that she would be missing practice, Bucky must've looked terrible since Steve went ahead and told him to take off, too.

Bucky waited in Steve's room that night and was grateful when his best friend continued to silently support him by not pressing the issue. Not a word was spoken except for Steve's quite "goodnight" just before they both went to sleep.

All night—and every night since—Bucky tossed and turned, plagued by nightmares of what might have happened after he left. During the day, when he wasn't actively trying not to murder the gossips, he cursed himself for not sticking around and rescuing her. If he knew what happened for certain, then maybe he wouldn't wake up sick every morning after hours of hazy visions of Loki and Natasha tangled together.

* * *

_**Part Three: Mr. Know-It-All** _

After six days of watching Bucky mope around, Steve had had enough. He knew there was nothing he could say to make him feel better. He wasn't even sure what had happened to make Bucky this depressed. Steve knew it had something to do with Natasha Romanoff, but that was about it.

Steve was never one for gossip, but it was nearly impossible to ignore the things being said about his new wide receiver. Whether those things were true or not, it wasn't for Steve to decide, but Bucky's disappearance on Tuesday and his subsequent reappearance along with his drastically altered attitude, left little doubt in Steve's mind that whatever happened with Natasha and Thor's brother was bad.

So, when Monday rolled around, Steve decided it was finally time to step in. After football practice was over for the evening, he called Natasha over to him.

"Romanoff, can I see you for a minute?"

Natasha jogged over to him looking fresh-faced and bright-eyed, far happier than she had any business being after the week she _must've _had.

"Yeah, Cap, what's up?"

Steve searched her eyes, her face, her stance. Nothing about her screamed guilty or embarrassed.

"After you hit the showers and get dressed, meet me outside the locker room."

"Is everything okay?"

Steve wasn't proud when her confident expression faltered, giving him a brief moment of satisfaction. Whatever happened, even if the rumors were true, wasn't her fault. He knew that. Steve made a mental note not to take his frustration out on her. _It Bucky's fault he's in this situation_, _not hers_, Steve reminded himself.

Steve nodded. "We just need to go over a few things."

When Natasha emerged from the girl's locker room thirty or so minutes later, it was dark, and Steve's stomach was growling.  
"Come with me," he said gruffly.

She followed, practically jogging to keep up with his long, swift strides.

"Where are we going?"

Without looking back, Steve replied, "It's about time you and I had a conversation, and I'm starving. If you don't mind, I'd rather we have some food with our little chat."

She said nothing else, but Steve knew she was still on his heels. He thought about asking if she would follow in her car but decided that would give her an easy out. Instead, he made a beeline for his own car and held the passenger door out for her to get in. Steve might've been irritated by the situation, but his mother raised him to be a gentleman.

Natasha eyed the invitation warily but got in nonetheless.

They drove in silence, which continued as they parked in front of the restaurant and were seated. It seemed as long as Steve was content to keep his mouth shut, so was she. Steve knew it took guts, confidence, or stupidity to keep her mouth shut when she probably wanted answers, but her neutral expression gave nothing away. By the time their waiter arrived, Steve had a little bit more respect for Natasha.

"So," Steve started once the waiter left with their orders, "we need to talk."

"That's what you said," she replied quickly, her tone even, betraying nothing.

Steve chuckled.

"You got spirit; I'll give you that. I like it."

"Steve Rogers's approval? My life is complete."

She didn't blink as she spoke, and Steve couldn't help but smirk a bit at her deadpan expression.

"I know we didn't get off on the best foot with the whole tryouts situation, but I thought it was important for us to start over," he explained. "If that's okay with you," he added.

Natasha shrugged. "Fine by me."

"First things first," Steve said, clapping his hands together. "I want to clear the air and tell you that I know everything about you and Bucky."

Natasha snorted. "I figured."

"And that whole history between the two of you," he continued, "is part of the reason why we need to talk before we _can_ start over."

She didn't speak, but one of Natasha's eyebrows quirked upward. Steve took a moment to collect his thoughts. It wouldn't benefit anyone if he messed this up and offended her.

"I'm sure you're aware that you've been a subject of conversation since your arrival at Marvel High, correct?"

Natasha stared at him. She didn't blink.

"I'm not here to judge you," he added.

The only movement of the girl sitting across from his was that a second eyebrow joined the first.

"Bucky is my best friend, but, on the field, that friendship doesn't matter. On the field, you're both equal in my eyes because you're both my teammates. Unfortunately, that history between you two is messing with his head and it's affecting his performance."

"Are you kicking me off the team?" she asked. Her expression remained unchanged, but there was a dangerous glint in her eyes. She looked like she was daring him to do just that.

"No," Steve assured her, shaking his head. "If anything, he would be the one getting suspended until his attitude improved."

"Ah."

"My problem is this: I've heard his side of the story, I've heard what people are saying, but I think I'd like to hear your side of everything. I need to know all sides of the story if I want to effectively manage my team, deal with my best friend, and put an end to this nonsense."

"Nonsense?"

"Yes. Nonsense. This may come as a surprise to you, Romanoff, but I don't take kindly to people messing with my teammates, and that includes nosey gossips with nothing better to do than spread rumors about my wide receiver."

She didn't seem impressed by his admittedly snarky 'confession.'

"So, if you would, I'd like to hear about whatever you're comfortable enough to tell me. About Bucky, about last week, anything."

Natasha snorted at that. "And what if I don't think it's any of your business?"

"Fair question, but then I'd have to remind you that at least one of those things became my business when you didn't come to practice last Tuesday."

Natasha's impassivity wavered briefly.

_Finally_, Steve thought.

"You're right," she admitted. "That was irresponsible of me, and, for that, I apologize."

"Thank you."

Her eyes narrowed at his reply, but the change was not enough to prepare Steve for what came next.

"As far as everything else is concerned, I maintain that it is none of your business. I am sick and tired of telling people that. For the past two weeks, I've done nothing but mind my own damn business, but everyone seems intent on weaseling their way into my life with their opinions and affections and whatever the hell else, and I have had enough.

"If one more person—one more—tries to tell me how to live my life, I will not be held responsible for my actions. I am a hair's breadth away from going Kill Bill on everyone's ass including Bucky's, Loki's, Clint's, Tony's, Bruce's, and now yours. Am I making myself clear? It is my life, and the only one who has a say in what I do is me. It's called a personal life, a private life, for a reason.

"Do you understand, or do I need to say it slower? Use smaller words? Because I'm sick of having this conversation. Sick of it!"

Steve felt about two inches tall when she was done.

The waiter reappeared with their food and was met with silence. Natasha was glaring at Steve, who was slightly hunched over as though his shoulders could protect him from her wrath. As if he could sense the tension, the waiter quickly placed their meals in front of them and fled the scene.

Natasha looked down at her plate then across the table at Steve's. A soft chuckle escaped her lips, and Steve winced.

"He gave you mine," she said with a louder laugh and reached across the table to swap their plates.

Steve watched as she began digging into her meal, surprised by the sudden change in her demeanor. Gone was the darkness in her eyes and red in her cheeks. It was as if her tirade never happened. His mouth dropped a little when she even grinned at him after taking a bite.

"What?" he mumbled almost breathlessly.

Natasha looked up at him. "Hm?"

"What? Uh, what just…uh…what just hap-happened?"

Natasha cocked her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Steve's mind tried to process her sudden attitude change as his mouth opened and closed repeatedly without any words coming out.

"You were…. And then…. But I don't…what?"

Natasha snorted. "Chill, Cap. I got what I need to say off my chest. You asked me to tell you whatever I was comfortable with, and I did just that. It's in the past now. Catch up, slow-poke."

Steve absorbed her explanation with just a bit of disbelief, but her sincerity was hard to ignore. A slight chuckle escaped him, and Natasha grinned. Soon, they were both laughing, and the rest of the meal was enjoyed in a decidedly friendly atmosphere.

* * *

**_Part Four: Miss Invisible_**

Natasha ended up telling Steve almost everything. He was Bucky's best friend, but his comment about her side of the story and gossips led Natasha to believe that Steve was one of the rare creatures capable of objectivity. He was a good listener, too.

"One of the things I don't get," she said, "is why some of these guys are so obsessed, you know? Like, Bucky and Clint, I get, but Tony and Bruce and Loki…it's like they've gone and lost their damn minds. They don't know me, not really, but they're acting like they do. Like I owe them something, you know? It's exhausting."

By that point, they'd finished eating, but both of them were too engrossed in their conversation to recommend calling it a night and heading back to school.

"What can I say, Romanoff? Guys are idiots, especially teenage guys."

Natasha laughed. "You're right about that."

"Even I've been known to be slightly idiotic from time to time," he joked.

Natasha stopped laughing and leaned forward. "Now, why do I get the impression that that is just not true, mon Capitaine?"

The poor boy didn't know where to look, and Natasha watched Steve's eyes go a bit wide at her teasing.

"Chill, Cap, chill. I'm messing with you," she relented, taking pity on him.

"You're trouble, Romanoff. That's what you are. Trouble."

"With a capital 'T,'" she agreed, grinning.

"You know," Steve said, smiling affectionately at her, "I get why Bucky is kinda messed up about you." When she opened her mouth to respond, Steve kept going. "No, I do. I'm not about to join the legions of young men and start following you around like a lost puppy dog, but I get it."

Natasha relief was hesitant, so she kept her mouth shut, waiting for him to elaborate.

Steve's head rocked from side to side, looking as though he was carefully considering his words. She liked that. He had a good enough head on his shoulders to think before speaking—a rare trait as of late.

"You're clearly intelligent, hardworking, and a bit of a ball-buster," he explained. His cheeks went a bit red at the last part.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Natasha said.

"You should." Steve looked down at his watch. "Oh, and we should probably get going. I've kept you late enough as it is."

Natasha checked her phone and rolled her eyes at the missed messages from Clint.

"Yeah. You're probably right about that."

Steve signaled the waiter for the check and insisted on paying. Natasha tried to argue, but Steve only shook his head.

"I'm the one who dragged you here. Of course, it's my treat," he stated simply. "Plus, I learned my lesson on equality last week. I wouldn't dream of treading on your independence, Romanoff."

She rolled her eyes and laughed. "Fine, but that means it's my treat next time, 'kay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

On the drive back, Natasha felt more relaxed than she'd been since all this drama started. When they said their goodbyes, Steve gave her an awkward side hug that made her smile. It was as if she'd finally made a friend.

* * *

**_Part Five: Mr. Brightside (Redux)_**

The smile was gone; the song was gone. As he watched Rogers hug Natasha, Loki felt sick. The tiny voice in his mind whispered, "I told you, so."

* * *

***Song Inspiration:**

1) Mr. Blue Sky - Electric Light Orchestra  
2) Mr. Brightside - The Killers  
3) Mr. Know It All - Kelly Clarkson  
4) Miss Invisible - Marié Digby


	29. Chapter 29

**Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band: Vol. 1 (Parts 1-5)  
**

**[Prologue]**

_The Senior Sing-Along Spectacular_

_When: Friday night 8pm _

_Where: The Tower_

_Why: Homecoming Fundraiser_

_Who: Upperclassmen and student council members ONLY!_

_* Contact Pepper Potts for more info!_

Natasha stared down at the flyer clutched in her hands, weighing her options: to go or not to go? That was the question, indeed. It'd been a long week (more like a long three weeks), and Natasha was exhausted. Mentally, physically—you name it. Natasha was beat.

If she was being honest with herself, Natasha's hesitancy had little to do with being stuck in a room for several hours singing cheesy songs with her classmates. Despite the rumors, she'd actually managed to make quite a few friends during her first few weeks at Marvel High, especially after her dinner with Steve. Natasha's reluctance to attend Pepper Pott's Senior Sing-Along Spectacular was due to one reason and one reason only. Scratch that. Four reasons: Bruce, Bucky, Loki, and Tony.

Whoever said that girls were the emotional sex never met those boys.

Bruce had gone from sweet and shy to broody and forlorn in a way that mystified Natasha. He had an air of dangerous desperation that intrigued her even as it was sending off sirens in her head.

The confident and self-assured Bucky of her past had yet to make an appearance. This new Bucky was angry, intense, and deeply sad. Even as she tried to hate him for disappearing way back when, Natasha's heart still ached for him.

Like Bruce, Loki was also a mystery. Natasha didn't know him well, but even she knew his behavior that week was strange. After their adventure the week before, he'd been all too eager to talk to her again. With everything that happened after the Red Room, however, Natasha distanced herself from him. She knew his confidence the rest of the week was feigned, but it was nothing compared to the almost possessive attitude he'd adopted that Monday or his sudden seeming disinterest Tuesday. In fact, Loki's behavior flip-flopped so much that week, it left Natasha dizzy.

Then there was Tony.

Tony, Tony, Tony.

Natasha didn't believe in love at first sight. Lust at first sight? Yes. But love at first? No, definitely not. Still, she couldn't lie to herself. She knew that there had been _something_ when she met Tony. Whether it was because of the ease with which they conversed, the sudden inside jokes, or something deeper she couldn't define, Natasha knew that she was drawn to Tony for whatever reason. She'd wanted to explore it—still did, in fact—but Tony had gone cold, and Natasha couldn't figure out why.

"Hey, it's almost 8. You coming?"

Clint's voice at her door jerked Natasha from her troubled thoughts. She sighed, looking back down at the flyer, struggling under the weight of her own indecision.

"Sure."

* * *

**[Part One: I Want It That Way]**

_"You are my fire_

_The one desire_

_Believe when I say_

_I want it that way…"_

The night was well underway when Pepper primly suggested a "Battle of the Sexes" sing-off. Unbeknownst to her, the idea would be the catalyst for a good deal of personal strife for many, but hindsight is 20/20.

Turnout for the event was impressive; nearly all of the seniors had shown up, including some like Loki who never attended school functions. Before Pepper insisted on a round of "girls vs. boys" karaoke, the Marvel High seniors had already gone through an extensive catalog of popular and nostalgic hits sung as solos, in pairs, and even in groups.

Steve Rogers started the night off with a little Bruce Springsteen, followed quickly by Sam Wilson's rendition of "Baby Got Back." Thor's "I'm Too Sexy" had most of the senior ladies in a tizzy, especially during his mock-strip routine when he finished his first song and launched right into Ginuwine's "Pony."

The first duet of the night went to Clint and Laura with a hilarious version of Aqua's "Barbie Girl." Pepper dragged Tony onto the stage right after for several awkward minutes of "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" by Elton John and Kiki Dee. Natasha watched the first with glee and the second with discomfort. She was pleasantly surprised by Bruce's unexpected performance of Otis Redding's "Try a Little Tenderness."

But as the night wore on, people started getting restless as they either waited for their turn to sing or avoided the stage like their lives depended on it. That was when Pepper brought up her idea to form teams of girls and boys and sing in a group-based competition. So, the girls and boys separated into teams. By some miracle (or Pepper's behest), Steve and Tony led the first group which included Clint, Bruce, Bucky, Sam, Rhodey, Happy, and a wide-eyed Peter Parker in a karaoke staple, "I Want it That Way."

At the beginning of the song, the atmosphere was slightly tense. Steve and Tony stood in the middle of the line-up, while Bucky loitered on the fringe of the group as far away from Tony as he could get. Bruce and Peter Parker looked about as uncomfortable as could be as they were practically dwarfed by their much larger classmates. Clint's unease had disappeared after the first few bars of the song and was now enthusiastically half-singing/half-shouting the lyrics to his heart's content.

When the first chorus hit, almost everyone in the room got into it, propelling the boys on the stage to react in kind. They took turns serenading each member of the girls' team, who were seated near the stage, with exaggerated expressions and over-the-top vocals. Everything was fun and lighthearted…until it wasn't.

Each member of the girls' team had been singled out by the time the boys got to the bridge—every member except for Natasha. Each member of the boys' team had taken his turn in the spotlight—every boy except Bucky. In that moment, everything seemed to slow down. Bucky took the mic from Steve's outstretched hand, looked Natasha in the eyes, and opened his mouth:

_"You are my fire_

_The one desire_

_You are…" _

The rest of the team joined in with their chorus of "you are, you are, you are," but Natasha couldn't tear her gaze away from Bucky's face. Likewise, Bucky couldn't stop staring at her. Tony, still standing as far from Bucky as humanly possible, had the unwanted advantage of watching the entire exchange. And Pepper, who had the hard-earned ability for reading Tony like a book, saw him watching them, and she wasn't pleased to see the jealousy in his eyes. She was even less pleased when he was given the mic and sang the last line while looking directly at Natasha Romanoff.

* * *

**[Part Two: Wannabe]**

For their song, the girls' group chose "Wannabe." Natasha reluctantly took the stage with Carol, Valkyrie, both Marias, Laura, Gamora, and a narrow-eyed Pepper. They settled into their places on the stage as the boys took their seats, everyone waiting for the song to begin. Thankfully, the pacing of the song necessitated multiple microphones, and four were brought up along with the stands. With two girls to each mic, the song began with Pepper taking the lead.

The song itself went off without a hitch. Despite her love of music and her natural ability, Natasha hadn't done much singing since her Lee Elementary days with Clint. She kept her voice contained, making sure to keep in tune with the other singers on stage during the chorus, and tried her hardest not to stand out whenever she was featured alone. But by some nasty twist of fate, the responsibility for singing crescendo of the song fell squarely on Natasha's shoulders, and she couldn't stop herself from belting out the "you gotta" refrain with as much gusto as she could muster. Her efforts were met with a standing ovation and a symphony of cheers.

The final portion of the song was sung by all of the girls together. When it was finished, everyone in the room was still on their feet, and their applause was deafening. The girls' group was unanimously named the winners before leaving the stage to make way for a second set of dueling groups.

Parched from her musical exertions, Natasha excused herself from the group and headed over to the bar, completely unaware of the brown eyes that followed her retreating figure.

* * *

**[Part Three: Something to Talk About]**

Much like the rest of the room, the bar was pretty crowded. Natasha made her way to the opposite end and parked herself on an empty stool by a quiet brunette who spared a smile as a way of acknowledging Natasha's presence. The bartender came almost immediately to take Natasha's order—which earned a slight chuckle from the girl next to her—and procured the requested bottle of water just as fast, prompting another chuckle.

Natasha paid for the bottle and thanked the bartender, who seemed content to ignore the other patrons in favor of staring at her. She was well aware of the brunette watching the interaction and felt herself blush. Awkwardly, Natasha raised the water bottle, shook it a little, and stressed a second "thanks," at which point the bartender finally got the hint that he was no longer wanted and reluctantly left. Natasha groaned once he was out of earshot.

"Get used to it, hun," the brunette said.

"What?"

Natasha adjusted her position on the stool to get a better look at the girl.

"I said, 'get used to it, hun,'" the girl repeated.

"Get used to what?"

The brunette looked pointedly over at the busy bartender and smirked.

"I'm not sure I follow," Natasha admitted.

Another chuckle, but there was a cynical edge to the sound. The brunette smirked. "You don't strike me as naïve," she finally said.

"I'm not," Natasha cautiously replied.

"Good."

"But I'm also not a mind reader."

Natasha's response garnered a legitimate laugh from the strange girl, who swiveled on her stool to face Natasha. The girl sized Natasha up from head to toe, studying her as if she was a problem that needed solving or a specimen to be dissected. As she did this, Natasha did her best to remain calm and collected.

"Mind reader or not," the girl said, having finished her inspection, "you'd have to be blind or just plain stupid not to realize the effect a girl like you can have on men." She took a sip from her drink before continuing. "Of course, I use the term 'men' loosely, but specifications like that are pedantic and unnecessary."

"I'm sorry, but who are you?"

The girl held out her free hand. "Maya. Maya Hansen."

Natasha shook Maya's hand and gave her name as well.

"Oh, I know exactly who you are," Maya confessed.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha replied, "I'm not surprised. Everyone seems to know everything about me these days."

"Oh yeah? Well, that's the downside of beauty, hun. Not to mention the distinct disadvantage of having an 'in' with the in-crowd."

"An 'in'?"

"You were friends with Clint Barton before you transferred, right?"

Natasha nodded.

"He was you 'in,' then," Maya explained.

"And how is that a distinct disadvantage?"

"Because you had somewhere you belonged before you even stepped foot in Marvel."

"Most people would consider that a good thing, though," Natasha countered.

"Ah, but you're forgetting the beauty component. The downside of it, anyway."

"What about it?"

Instead of looking frustrated by Natasha's questions, Maya appeared to be amused by the conversation. "We live in a superficial society, don't you agree?"

Natasha nodded slowly.

"We also live in a society that is easily distracted. As a transfer student, especially a senior transfer student, you are—by default—a shiny, new toy that everyone is socially obligated to take interest in. You, specifically, are shinier than most of the toys we've gotten at Marvel in the past few years, but you already had an…_owner_."

"An 'owner'?"

Maya shrugged and took a sip of her drink. "For lack of a better term."

Natasha tried, but she couldn't discern where Maya was going with this conversation. "At the risk of sounding naïve again, I still don't get your point."

"Think of it like show-and-tell. High schools are often divided into groups. It's not as cut and dried as _Mean Girls_ would have you believe, but there are groups. These groups may be made up of autonomous individuals, but they act as single organisms with a bad case of groupthink. Your friend, Clint Barton, has historically belonged to Steve Rogers's group. So, for all intents and purposes, the Steve Roger's collective is your owner. You with me so far?"

"The analogy is unsettling, but please continue."

Maya laughed. "Yes. I'm sorry, but it's the best way to explain it." She paused. "The Steve Rogers collective is one of the most prominent groups at Marvel High. The other most prominent is the Tony Stark collective, as I'm sure you're aware. There are other small, less prominent groups, and then there are even smaller groups on the fringe of our school's social structure. One of those groups is indirectly headed by Loki Odinson. Finally, for this analogy, each group or collective represents an individual, specifically a child that would be age-appropriate for such an analogy.

"So, when Barton brought his especially shiny toy to school and spent the last few weeks showing that toy off, the other students reacted much like you would expect little kids to act before they've learned important tools like impulse control and sharing. They wanted you. Wanted to play with you. To get you alone, up close and personal, and take you for their own. To them, it's not fair that someone has you and they don't. It's silly and illogical, but it's how kids like that think; it's how the boys at our school think."

"But what does that have to do with everyone knowing everything about me?" Natasha asked, mystified by Maya's train of thought.

"It's simple. Have you ever wanted something so bad you'd do anything to get it?"

Natasha thought for a moment and then nodded.

"Didn't you want to know everything you could about that thing? Research it? Learn all about it? Fully immerse yourself in it?"

Again, Natasha nodded.

"If you know how that all feels, does it still surprise you that these groups, these collectives, these individuals, all of whom want you—the shiny, new toy—have taken the same measures? It doesn't surprise me. I don't think it's surprised anyone except you. I mean, it's hardly a secret that you disappeared with Loki during lunch last week or that you've hung out with Tony Stark and other members of his amoeba. And the spectacle of it all was on purpose. Don't worry. I'm not saying it was your intent; it was theirs. They wanted to be seen with you. In my analogy, being seen with you is the same as taking ownership away from Barton and the rest of the Steve Rogers collective."

For a moment, both girls were silent as Natasha processed Maya's explanation. Then, "That's dumb," she said.

"You're not wrong," Maya muttered into her glass.

Natasha sighed. "This whole thing is ridiculous. I should be allowed to make friends with whomever I want, collective or no."

"Again, you're not wrong."

"Besides," Natasha mumbled, almost to herself, "Tony and I are just friends."

"You're not not wrong," Maya said with a dark chuckle.

"Wait. What?"

"Just friends? You sure about that?"

"Yes. Of course."

Maya quirked an eyebrow. "You might wanna tell Pepper that."

"Why?"

"Because she's spent the last three weeks and all of tonight watching you the same way she watched me when Tony and I were 'just friends.'" Maya's use of air quotes around "just friends" made Natasha narrow her eyes and open her mouth to argue, but Maya cut her off. "It doesn't matter what your relationship with Tony is. To Pepper, he will always be her favorite shiny toy, and she doesn't play well with others when it comes to him. And, by the looks of it, I'm guessing you're Public Enemy No. 1."

A small group of girls approached Maya from behind. There were four of them. Natasha recognized one as Hope van Something-or-Other from football tryouts. Of the remaining three, one was a pretty Asian girl, one was a shy-looking, pale brunette, and the third was a tanned blonde with a fixed expression of contempt aimed directly at Natasha.

"Maya, it's our turn," the unfamiliar brunette said quietly.

"Mm. Thanks, Betty," Maya replied without even glancing back at the other girl. "Well, that's my cue, Natasha. It's been lovely." She stood up to follow the other girls towards the stage.

"Wait," Natasha called after her. "You never told me what group you're in. You know everything about me. It only seems fair that I should know something, too. More than your name, anyway."

Maya exchanged knowing glances with the other girls and smirked. "We're a special group. We float on the fringes I was telling you about, but we all have one thing in common."

"Which is…?"

Another shared look. Another smirk.

"Tony Stark," Hope answered.

"We are his Island of Misfit Toys," Maya added. "The cast-offs of the Tony Stark collective."

"Not me," the pale brunette interjected. "I never dated Tony."

"I know, hun," Maya assured her. "I was referring to the collective theory." She turned to Natasha. "Betty, here, dated Bruce—a key member of Stark's collective, but you already knew that, I'm sure."

Natasha nodded, keenly aware of Betty's sudden change of expression when she actually looked at her. Natasha was reminded of Tony's admission regarding Bruce. If everyone at this school knew what they did, it wasn't inconceivable that Betty knew of Bruce's infatuation with Natasha. From her expression, Betty was aware and wasn't pleased. The shy look was gone.

"So, all of you except Betty, have dated Tony?" Natasha asked, though it wasn't really a question; she knew the answer.

Together, Maya, Hope, the Asian girl, and the blonde nodded.

"Yup," Maya said. "Hope, Helen, Christine, and I were each once the shiny, new toys. But Tony, with a little help from Pepper, gets bored easily. She always wins. And, one-by-one, we all joined the dreaded list of exes."

The blonde caught Natasha's eye, adding, "And we are legion."

Moving as a single unit, all five girls turned around.

"Be seeing you," Maya added, glancing back at Natasha with a wink before her and her friends disappeared into the crowd.

Natasha tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. She got the feeling that another bottle of water wouldn't help. Numbly, she wandered out of the room and headed downstairs. If water wouldn't help, maybe some fresh air would.

* * *

**[Part Four: Say My Name]**

Ever since their little chat the week before, Pepper knew Tony was upholding his end of the deal and steering clear of that pesky redhead. It wasn't an assumption or blind faith in the boy she loved; Pepper knew. She'd never confess as much out loud or explain how she knew, but she did. The "how" of it all may have had something to do with some secretly procured technology and the combined efforts of herself, Maria Hill, and an unwitting Happy Hogan with assistance from an equally unwitting Phil Coulson.

But the "hows" and "whys" and whatnot weren't important. The only thing that was important was that Pepper knew. _She knew!_

Perhaps that was why she felt her stomach drop and her brain short-circuit when she saw how Tony reacted to the moment between Bucky and the Romanoff girl. Or when she was overcome with white-hot rage as she watched her boyfriend deliver the last line of that corny pop song to another girl. Or why she was about two seconds away from screaming bloody murder at him now after catching him staring at the redhead who was sitting at the bar and talking to someone. The only thing stopping Pepper from giving in to that primal urge was the "who." Five minutes of talking to Maya Hansen would probably convince Little Miss Muffet to stay away from Tony.

Pepper didn't like surprises, which was why she always came prepared. It's why she did the work, the research. She didn't leave things to chance; she knew for fuck's sake.

It had been a week since their chat and almost two weeks since Tony had any meaningful interaction with the new girl. Historically, that meant Tony should be over it by now. He was a creature of habit, a book, a series of patterns; she could read him and predict what he would do, say, even think. She anticipated his needs and actions with the same effort required for breathing—an action that became more and more difficult with every second that passed as Tony continued to watch Romanoff out of the corner of his eye.

Pepper tried distracting him with conversation, but that had been pointless. She tried distracting him with kisses, but a stole glance mid-kiss caught him with his eyes similarly open and otherwise engaged, still watching that insufferable girl. She finally dragged him outside for some alone time on the roped-off terrace for a full-blown make-out session, and even that didn't seem to prevent his gaze from wandering back to the redhead sitting at the bar, seen easily through the glass doors. She gave up.

"Tony, what's wrong? You seem distracted," Pepper murmured, trying her best to sound loving and sympathetic—anything else but anger and annoyance with him and seething hatred for _her_.

Tony leaned back against the terrace railing and sighed, forcefully dragging his gaze from the bar and looking out into the night. "I just got some stuff on my mind."

"What kind of stuff, Tony?"

"Just stuff, Pepper. I'm allowed to have my own stuff."

"I know that. I'm just worried. You haven't been yourself lately. Aren't I allowed to be concerned?" Silence. Had he heard her? "Tony?"

"Dammit, Pepper!" he cried, slamming his hand against the cool metal railing. "Can you just leave it for once? I've done everything you've asked of me, but you're still not happy. What do I have to do?"

Pepper watched emotion after emotion, all foreign and unfamiliar to her, wash across Tony's face, leaving her feeling unsettled like she was lost in uncharted waters without a map or compass.

"I'm sorry, Tony. I wasn't trying to upset you."

He was quiet as he stared at a spot on the ground.

"I know," he finally said. "Sorry for losing my cool."

"It's okay, Tony," she whispered, venturing closer to him, eager to resume her attempts at distracting him. "I love you," she said just as she was about to reach out to him, but he stopped her.

"I'm really not in the mood right now."

Pepper froze. That had never happened. He had never flat-out turned her advances down. Never. If she was out in uncharted waters, then her boat had sprung a leak, and she was sinking.

Something just past her shoulder caught his attention, and he straightened up. "I need some fresh air. I'll meet up with you later," he said, moving towards the door.

"But we're outside."

"A moment alone, then."

"But we're alone, Tony," she countered.

"By myself."

He walked through the doors, making a beeline for the set of doors that would take him downstairs. She looked over to where Romanoff had been sitting, but the redhead was gone. Pepper had a bad feeling about Tony's sudden departure coinciding with Romanoff's equally sudden disappearance, but she didn't like _feeling_….

She preferred _knowing_.

* * *

**[Part Five: Hit Me with Your Best Shot]**

"Miss me, Miss Iglesias?"

Tony's voice. It'd been nearly two weeks since she'd heard it, but Natasha knew it was him without looking. She wasn't quite sure how he'd found her hiding spot in the alley behind The Tower, but that wasn't what mattered at that moment.

"Oh, so you're talking to me again?"

"I deserved that," he admitted, not missing a beat.

"Damn straight," she muttered.

"Would it help my case if I apologized?"

She shrugged. "Won't know unless you try."

"Fair point," he conceded. "Please, Miss Iglesias, allow me to extend the sincerest of all my apologies for going incommunicado on you. Trust me, it hurt me far more than it hurt you."

At this, her head snapped up, and she locked eyes with him. "Seriously? That's your idea of an apology. That sucked. Try again."

Tony laughed, but it was hollow and sad.

"You're right." He paused, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Natasha. It was a dick move to ignore your text and you, for that matter, for the last week or so. I truly am sorry."

"Then why'd you do it?"

He grimaced. "I'm not at liberty to say. Doing so would be rather ungentlemanly of me, and I'd rather not give you another reason to think ill of me."

"Me, me, me. A touch narcissistic, aren't we?"

Tony chuckled. "Only in the execution of my reasoning. Not in the reason, itself. Again, sorry."

"Yeah, well, when you play with words as you do, things are bound to get lost in translation."

"Makes sense," Tony said, nodding. "But for some reason, I get the feeling that you understand me a bit better than most."

Natasha couldn't help but smirk. "You? No. Your odd speech patterns and circular thinking? Yes. Then again, I've volunteered in plenty of nursing homes. I'm used to talking with stroke victims and people with dementia, so I've had practice."

"Ouch, Miss Romanoff."

"Don't complain. You had that coming."

"I guess you're right," he acquiesced. "You mind if I have a seat?" He pointed to the spot on the makeshift bench next to her. She shrugged, so he took that as a "no, I don't mind," and eased himself down next to her.

They sat there for a while, breathing in the cool night air and enjoying the oddly comfortable silence. Neither of them seemed in a hurry to break the spell, but something was nagging at the back of Natasha's mind. She needed answers.

"So," she began warily, "I met your ex. Or, exes, rather."

"Oh yeah? Which ones?"

"Maya Hansen, Hope van Whatsherface, and two others. Asian girl and blonde."

"Hope van Dyne. The Asian girl is Helen Cho. Sweet girl, by the way. I'd say you need to be more specific with the blonde but, given the company, I'm going to assume it was Christine Everhart."

"You know what they say when you assume, right?"

Tony mindlessly waved his hand as if he was waving his concerns away. "Meh. I'm pretty sure I can't make an even bigger ass out of myself in front of you than I already have, especially if you've met any of my exes."

"Good answer," Natasha said, the ghost of a smirk lingering on her lips.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"Was it everything you thought it'd be?"

"Mm. That and more, Miss Romanoff."

"Glad to hear. So, what are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be upstairs with your girlfriend?" Natasha tried and mostly succeeded in her attempt to not sound jealous. They were just friends.

"Not really my scene at this very moment," Tony quipped. "What about your boyfriend? I can't imagine Mr. Odinson would be too happy to know your sulking in an alley with an undesirable figure like myself."

Natasha snorted. "Loki is not my boyfriend."

"Good to know."

Natasha turned and stared at him. "Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why is that a good thing to know? That Loki's not my boyfriend, I mean."

Tony's eyes widened a bit as he realized his slip and tried to shake it off with a shrug of indifference. "Oh, I don't know. Just something to say, I guess."

"Liar."

"You're not wrong."

Maya Hansen's face entered unbidden into Natasha's thoughts as she remembered everything she'd said.

"You're not the first person to say that to me tonight," she mused.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Maya said the exact same thing. Twice, actually."

"What about, if you don't mind me asking."

"You."

"Me?"

"Yeah. Well, you and the other boys at school. The thought process and pack mentality of the average American male teen, I guess."

"Huh. So, good things?"

"About you? Never."

The corner of Tony's mouth tilted upwards. "Did you guys talk about anything else? About me, I mean?"

Natasha nodded, aware of his sideways gaze. "She thought we were together. I told her we were just friends." She thought she saw a bit of disappointment in his eyes but continued on. "And she told me that I better watch out because I'm just a shiny, new toy, and you get bored easily."

Tony went still.

"That's not true," he finally whispered.

"Which part?" she asked, similarly quiet.

He shrugged. "I guess I do get bored easily, but I don't treat people like objects. And there are extenuating circumstances when it comes to the mess that is my love life."

"Like?"

He chuckled. "Again, it would be ungentlemanly of me to go into the details."

"It's Pepper," Natasha said.

Tony looked at her but said nothing. He wasn't going to betray his relationship with Pepper, but Natasha could tell he was trying to explain everything with just a look. It was a look that said, _"I'm trapped. I don't want to hurt anyone, but I'm stuck somewhere I don't want to be. Help me."_ She wanted to help him; she really did, but it wasn't her place.

"And you are far more important than a toy," Tony continued after an eon of silence.

The words were spoken so softly and at such a low volume, Natasha couldn't be sure they'd been spoken at all. When she looked at him, however, she knew they had been. Even though she hadn't known him long, she'd rarely seen him serious except for when she told him about Bucky that day in the nurse's office. But nothing in her memory of him compared to what she saw now.

Tony was shaking slightly. His shoulders, his hands, the muscles in his face. He looked like he was on the verge of some explosive emotion that Natasha couldn't name. He was struggling to contain it and failing miserably.

"I like you," he uttered suddenly.

"You have a girlfriend." It was all she could say; anything else would've been dangerous.

"I know," he said. There was another long stretch of silence, then, "Do you like me?"

_I don't know and maybe and I shouldn't and I don't care and I don't know why. _

"Yes."

* * *

**A/N:** Ended up having to split this chapter into 2 volumes. Vol. 1 contains the prologue and parts 1 through 5. Vol. 2 will include parts 6 through 10. Each part is named and inspired by a popular karaoke song given the setting. Sorry for the wait. I hope it was worth it!

Song playlist for "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band: Vol. 1 (Parts 1-5)": 

Part One: I Want it That Way - Backstreet Boys  
Part Two: Wannabe - Spice Girls  
Part Three: Something to Talk About - Bonnie Raitt  
Part Four: Say My Name - Destiny's Child  
Part Five: Hit Me with Your Best Shot - Pat Benatar

Here's a bonus sneak peak at the playlist for "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band: Vol. 2 (Parts 6-10)": 

Part Six: Can't Help Falling in Love - Elvis Presley  
Part Seven: Jolene - Dolly Parton  
Part Nine: I Will Survive - Gloria Gaynor  
Part Eight: I Will Always Love You - Whitney Houston version (originally by Dolly Parton)  
Part Ten: Don't Stop Believin' - Journey

Excited?!


	30. Chapter 30

**Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band**:** Vol. 2 (Parts 6-9)**

**[Part Six: Can't Help Falling in Love]**

_"Yes." _

With just one word from Natasha, Tony's heart was soaring.

There was an on-going joke amongst his friends that Tony didn't have a heart. If its existence was ever legitimately called into question, he could point to this exact moment and say, _"I have proof."_ The truly heartless couldn't possibly feel the way he was feeling now.

"But it doesn't matter," Natasha continued.

And just like that, Tony's heart came crashing down as reality hit him square in the face.

"'Spose you're right," he agreed.

"Even if you didn't have a girlfriend, we've only known each other a few weeks. I'm not even sure what 'like' means at this point." She paused, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. "Do you?"

Slowly, Tony shook his head. "Guess not."

It was true. He didn't know Natasha that well. She didn't really know him. Still, from the moment he saw her, he couldn't help—

_No!_ He couldn't let himself think that. Not when she was clearly talking herself down another path, even as she was leaning closer to him. Like a magnet, he was equally helpless against the pull that drew him closer to her.

A crash near the entrance of the alley startled them, and Natasha jerked backwards. Tony felt the distance settle back between them.

Natasha stood up. "I'm gonna head back inside before we do something we'll both regret." She was almost at the alley's entrance when she stopped and turned. "I'd never forgive myself if I, well, you know… But we can be friends, right? Really get to know each other. You're with Pepper, and I'm not ready to be with anyone, especially not someone who's already in a relationship. I don't need the drama. But I'm willing to be your friend, if you want."

_Friends…_

Tony's heart had dropped so low, it was likely passing one of his kneecaps at that moment.

"Sure," he replied with as unaffected a smile as he could muster. "Friends. I can do that."

Maybe he could, maybe he couldn't. Only time would tell.

"Good," Natasha said with a small smile. "You going back inside or…?"

Tony shook his head. "Nah. I think I need a moment."

Natasha nodded and disappeared around the corner.

He waited until he heard the sound of a door closing before collapsing back against the brick wall, settling further down on the makeshift bench.

_Friends…_

Tony sighed, and the sound morphed into an anguished groan as he covered his face with his hands.

_You're a fool for thinking she'd want anything more_, his conscious mocked him. _She's right. You barely know each other. Thinking you're in love when you've only just met? Are you out of your mind? What is this—a 90s teen movie?_

"Shut up," Tony hissed at his inner voice. "I'm really not in the mood for this invisible Jiminy Cricket bullshit."

_But she likes you_, the voice whispered. _So, there's hope_.

"No," Tony choked. "No hope. Hoping is a waste of energy and time and—"

_Time_, the voice echoed.

Natasha's words flooded back to him. _"But we can be friends, right? Really get to know each other. You're with Pepper, and I'm not ready to be with anyone." _

_Time_, the voice repeated. _Time to get to know each other. Time to deal with Pepper. Time until Natasha's ready. Time. _

Tony thought about time.

And thought.

And thought.

_Time. _

He could be patient. Sure, he wasn't exactly known for his patience, but Natasha would be worth it, right?

"Besides," Tony muttered to himself, "only fools rush in, and I am _not_ a fool."

* * *

**[Part Seven: Jolene]**

Pepper couldn't find Tony, and the need to know everything was clawing at her insides like a dangerous, wild animal trapped in a cage. She looked everywhere, but her wayward boyfriend was nowhere to be found.

Then she heard it—the echo of a girl's voice saying her name.

_"It's Pepper." _

The voice came from the alley between The Tower and another building. Slowly, Pepper eased around the corner, her eyes immediately landing on Tony sitting next to that Romanoff girl. Pepper's mouth tightened into a thin line of annoyance.

On her side of the alley, there was a dumpster. She could get to it without being seen and hear them better. Spying was wrong, and she'd be the first to admit that this was not her greatest moment, but Pepper needed to know. If Tony wouldn't be honest with her, this was the only way. (And she knew she was rationalizing her actions to herself, thank you very much, but she was desperate).

Safely tucked away behind the side of the dumpster, Pepper held her breath as she strained to hear the conversation between Tony and the girl, but all she could hear was silence. It was a foreboding kind of silence that stretched on for an eternity. She wished someone would say something.

"I like you," Tony said suddenly.

_Not that. Say anything but that. _

"You have a girlfriend." The Romanoff girl's reply gave Pepper pause. Why would she be worried about Pepper? If the roles were reversed, then…

"I know," Tony replied.

_Damn right, you know. At least Tony knows that—_

"Do you like me?"

Tony's question to the other girl stopped Pepper's brain in its tracks. A lump formed in her throat making it impossible to swallow. A painful stinging sensation needled the backs of her eyes. She blinked hard, willing away the tears that threatened to spill as she waited for the girl's reply.

"Yes."

_No!_

Pepper was moments away from revealing herself when the Romanoff girl spoke again.

"But it doesn't matter."

"'Spose you're right."

"Even if you didn't have a girlfriend, we've only known each other a few weeks. I'm not even sure what 'like' means at this point." The girl paused. "Do you?"

Pepper was surprised by the girl's question. _How does she not know what it means to "like" someone? _

"Guess not."

_And what does that mean? How does Tony not know? _

There was a long stretch of suspicious silence. At the risk of being caught, Pepper leaned forward a bit. Still hidden by the dumpster and the rest of her concealed by the darkness of night, Pepper had a better visual of Tony and the girl sitting next to one another, both a bit too close to each other for her comfort. And they were leaning closer and closer. As they leaned, so did Pepper. Half of her wanted to run out and put a stop to what was about to happen, while the other half was incapable of moving. The war of both halves ended abruptly when she stumbled forward.

Pepper jerked back just as Tony looked up and the Romanoff girl looked in her direction, both having missed seeing her by what had to be a millisecond. She waited with bated breath, willing her heart to stop pounding so hard and so fast. Surely they could hear it. She stopped breathing completely when she heard the sound of movement. Someone was standing up.

"I'm gonna head back inside before we do something we'll both regret."

With a start, Pepper realized that she was about to get caught. Tony would be livid if he caught her eavesdropping. She needed to get out of there.

Keeping close to the brick wall, Pepper skirted around the corner of the alley and was about to sneak back inside when she heard the Romanoff girl speak again. It was hard to hear from her new spot just outside the door, but Pepper could make out something about being friends. She heard the girl say "Pepper" and "drama." She couldn't hear Tony's reply; he was too far away. Whatever he said, the Romanoff girl must've liked it.

"Good… You going back inside or…?"

Pepper took that as her cue to disappear. She was halfway up the first flight when she heard the door open behind her followed by the sound of one set of footsteps.

_Romanoff_.

There it was again—that desperate, clawing _need_ to know.

Taking a deep breath to regain her composure, Pepper halted on the landing and turned, prepared for battle.

A few moments later, the girl with red hair and green eyes came into view and froze on the steps in front of her.

"Pepper, hey."

"Romanoff."

The Romanoff girl's eyes darted to either side of Pepper, looking for a way around her. Pepper folded her arms over her chest and rolled her shoulders back. _That TED Talk on power poses was useful after all. _

"Is everything okay?" the Romanoff girl asked, her cheeks looking slightly flushed.

_Guilty. _

"I don't know," Pepper said unflinching. "You tell me."

The other girl's shoulder's sagged like a deflated balloon.

"How much did you hear?"

"Enough."

The Romanoff girl mumbled something under her breath and sighed. "I really don't feel like having a confrontation in the stairwell. Can we do this somewhere else?"

Tony _could _come in at any moment.

"Fine."

Romanoff gestured for Pepper to lead the way. "After you."

A few minutes later, Pepper found herself alone with the Romanoff girl after successfully shooing a few of their peers from the girl's bathroom. After all, the girl's bathroom was invented solely for the purpose of female-driven high school drama. It was the perfect battleground for war.

Pepper opened her mouth, preparing to fire the first shot when Romanoff cut her off.

"I'm gonna stop you right there, because I'm pretty sure I know what you're about to say. I don't need to hear it."

Pepper tried to speak once more and, again, the damn Romanoff girl cut her off.

"Like, really, really, really don't need to hear it. Whatever you're about to say, just save it." The redhead jumped up on the bathroom sink and locked eyes with Pepper. "I'm not trying to 'steal your man' or however you were about to phrase that. Do I like Tony? Yes. Which I guess you already knew. Does Tony like me? Yes. But you knew that already, too. What does it all mean? Hell, if I know.

"But I'll tell you what I told him. I'm only interested in being friends. Everything else, and I mean _everything_, is between the two of you. I don't want to be a part of your relationship drama."

Before the Romanoff girl could cut her off again, Pepper spoke. "But you are a part of it."

The redhead arched an eyebrow. "I'm really not, though."

Pepper pressed further. "And, yet, you are. You've only been at school for a few weeks, and, already, practically everyone is obsessed with you, including my boyfriend. It has to stop."

To Pepper's surprise, the Romanoff girl laughed.

"I couldn't agree more."

_It was a night for surprises all around_, Pepper mused. "What do you mean by that?" she asked.

The Romanoff girl twisted around and started fussing with her hair in the mirror. "Exactly what you said. It needs to stop. I feel like I'm stuck in some purgatory-Hell-loop thingy. Just keep having the same conversation with everyone over and over and over. Honestly, it's enough to drive anyone absolutely batshit, insane-in-the-membrane, looney toons. It's freakin' absurd."

Pepper frowned. "I'm not quite sure I follow, Romanoff." She practically spat as she said the redhead's name.

The Romanoff girl rolled her eyes. "Pepper, I'm not your enemy. You can call me Natasha."

"You are my enemy."

"No. I'm not."

"But you are."  
Romanoff threw her hands in the air. "See! Hell-loop!" A strangled groan escaped her lips. "I'm not. I can't control Tony or any of the other guys. I'm not responsible for what they do, think, or say. The only person I have any control over is me. Same goes for you. Same goes for everyone else. The only person anyone can control is themselves. The sooner you get that, the easier your life will be. Then, maybe, we could be friends."

Pepper wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Friends?"

"Yes. That's all I ever wanted. Friends."

"Somehow, Miss Romanoff—"

"Natasha."

Pepper sighed. "Somehow, _Natasha_, I doubt you've had problems making friends in life, seeing how it took less than three weeks before you had the entire student body wrapped around your little finger."

_Natasha_ laughed, but it was an empty, hollow sound. "Wrapped around my finger. Uh-huh. Sure. That explains the last week or so of slut-shaming and getting the evil eye from practically every girl at school.

"You know," Natasha continued, "I've heard that you're pretty smart. One of the top students in our class, but that has to be one of the stupidest things I've ever heard. Doubt I've had problems making friends, my ass." She snorted. "Before coming to Marvel High, I had one friend, Pepper, one friend. Clint Barton. I've spent my entire life desperately trying to make friends, but something always ruins it. The guys always end up liking me and complaining about friend-zoning them, while the girls act like I'm the big, bad competition for the affections of the idiotic, unwashed miscreants at school.

"I mean, who the hell cares? I sure don't. I think it's stupid that we've been conditioned to compete against one another for what? Just so a boy will like us more than some other girl? How is that not the stupidest thing you've ever heard? It's a toxic mentality, and I'm suffocating from the fumes. Well, newsflash! I'm done competing. To be clear, I never was. Not intentionally, anyway. But I'm not looking to compete with you, Pepper."

Natasha paused, giving Pepper a much-needed moment to digest her rant.

"All I've ever wanted was friends," Natasha continued. "I love Clint, I do, but what I want, more than anything, are female friends. Never had those until I came here. Now I have Carol and Valkyrie and Maria, kinda, but…well, I can't really get into why, but I will say that I'm still missing true, meaningful female friendships. The kind where we build one another up, cheer each other on instead of tearing one another down.

"If you're interested, I'd love to be that for you, Pepper, but I'm not going to continue this Kabuki theater act of me vs. you in the fight for Tony's attention. It's dumb as hell. If you want to be friends, great. If not, I'll deal, but I'm not putting up with this anymore. You can talk _at_ me or _about_ me until you're blue in the gills, but I can't take it anymore.

"So, Pepper, what's it going to be?"

Pepper studied Natasha closely. She seemed sincere, but appearances were often deceiving. Something inside her was screaming that Natasha's frustration was genuine and her words were honest, though.

"I love Tony," Pepper whispered.

"Do you, though?" Natasha prompted. It sounded like a challenge.

Pepper crossed her arms. "Of course, I do."

Natasha held her hands up in surrender. "I only ask because, to me, love isn't about controlling someone. That's not love. Love needs trust."

"I thought you wanted to be friends. Is that how you talk to your friends?"

"Yeah, when they need a little tough love, that is. But we're not friends yet cause you never answered my question."

Pepper and Natasha stared at each other for a bit, one silently fuming and the other watching with mild amusement.

"Can I think about it?" Pepper finally asked.

Natasha pretended to consider this for a moment. "Sure, but I don't recommend taking too long."

"Why not?"

"Because I get the feeling that your brain is a scary, scary place. Too much thinking about this might put us back right where we started. Hell-loop, remember?"

Pepper scowled. "Very funny."

"How about while you're thinking, we sing a song together," Natasha said, swinging off the counter.

"What did you have in mind? Please tell me it's not 'The Boy is Mine.'" Pepper made a face.

"No, of course not." Natasha made an equally displeased face. "Something much better."

* * *

**[Part Eight: I Will Survive]**

_"At first I was afraid, I was petrified…"_

Tony could hardly believe his eyes.

_"Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side…"_

Never in a thousand years could he have guessed he'd bear witness to a moment like this.  
_"But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong…"_  
Pepper.

_"And I grew strong…"_

And Natasha.  
_"And I learned how to get along…"_

Together.

_"And so you're back…"_

The song kicked into gear and the crowd went wild as the two girls on stage gave it their all.

"What is happening?" Tony asked to no one in general as he took his seat between Rhodey and Bruce.

Rhodey shrugged, his mouth slightly ajar, while Bruce couldn't be bothered to tear his gaze away from Natasha.

"An enlightening response, thank you," Tony muttered, similarly incapable of looking anywhere else. His girlfriend and the girl he liked singing together on stage. How had this happened? And why? It couldn't have happened at a more suspicious time, especially after blowing up at Pepper half an hour earlier and his private conversation with Natasha…what, less than 10 minutes ago?

And what was with the song? Who chose this? What did it mean?

Tony's brain couldn't handle it. He shook his head and continued staring dumbfoundedly at the scene unfolding before him.

On the other side of the room, Bucky Barnes was likewise watching the unusual performance completely unaware that his best friend watching him just with an equal intensity.

_That song can't be a coincidence_, Bucky thought to himself. _Unless Pepper chose it, but_—

Natasha locked eyes with him, belting out:

_"Weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye,_

_Do you think I'd crumble,_

_Did you think I'd lay down and die?"_

Nope. Natasha definitely picked the song. Bucky grimaced.

"You okay, Buck?" Steve asked, but Bucky wasn't listening.

Natasha looked so beautiful up there, vibrant and full of life, radiating with the kind of self-empowerment and confidence other teenagers would kill for.

And he let her slip through his fingers.

_I'm an idiot. _

Bucky thought about getting up, leaving the room, and waiting somewhere for the song to be over. He thought about marching up on stage, grabbing Natasha, and stealing her away so he could talk some sense into her. He thought about marching outside to the balcony and taking a swan dive off the side.

But he couldn't move.

Bucky was stuck. Motionless. Incapable of anything except looking at her and hating himself. Those were the only two things he'd ever been good at.

Once upon a time, he'd been good at loving her.

But that fairy tale ended. He ended it. She had every right to hate him.

"Buck?" Steve prompted again, nudging him in the side to get his attention. "You good?"

Bucky shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Uh, yeah, man. I'm good."

"Liar."

"I think, uh, I think I need some fresh air," Bucky croaked.

"Want some company?"

"Nah, man. I'm good."

Bucky took one last look at Natasha. Their eyes met. She was belting out the chorus once more with Pepper singing and dancing along at her side. For a moment, though, Natasha and Bucky were the only two people in the room.

Bucky swallowed and slipped through the balcony doors and into the cool, autumn night.

_"From now on, unless it's about football or I approach you, please leave me alone."_

Natasha's request haunted Bucky as he tried not to watch the rest of his ex-girlfriend's performance through the glass doors. He forced himself to move off to the side, restricting his view. It was the only way he could respect her wishes and not go barreling in after her. He could ride this out.

Inside, the music stopped, and another song started up. A man's voice sang along to a song Bucky didn't know. He idly wondered what Natasha was doing now, but he didn't have to wonder for long. Moments later, Natasha slipped through the large, glass door.

"Hiya, stranger."

* * *

**[Part Nine: I Will Always Love You]**

"T-Tash…er…Natasha. What-? I mean, uh, how are-? Should I…do you want me to…?" Bucky trailed off as he gestured toward the door, his eyes wide and his entire body frozen in panic.

Natasha would've chuckled if it wasn't so sad.

"No, Bucky. You don't need to leave. I came out here on purpose."

"It's just that, I've been trying to give you your space, just like you asked, and—"

"I know," Natasha said, cutting him off. "Thank you."

Bucky shrugged. "It's the least I could do," he said, hanging his head in shame. When he looked up, he was startled by how close Natasha was. She'd leaned up against the railing, right next to him.

"I wanted to apologize for that song," Natasha said. "It was kinda mean."

"I deserved it," Bucky argued.

"True, but that doesn't make it any less mean." She paused, looking at him meaningfully. "Two wrongs don't make a right. And revenge never got anyone anywhere. Although a song is hardly revenge. Unless…is revenge singing a thing?"

The look on Bucky's face was priceless, and Natasha couldn't stop from chuckling now.

"I'm joking, Bucky. Lighten up." Natasha pointed to her mouth. "See the grin? This is my joking face. I know it's been a while, but…"

"Some things never change?"

Natasha nodded. "Yeah. Something like that."

They both fell silent, listening to the crowd inside and the sounds of the city around them. Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha watched Bucky glance nervously at her, then away, then back again. Over and over.

"Except everything's changed," she whispered.

"Yeah," Bucky agreed.

"Do you know why I agreed to go out with you that night?" Natasha didn't clarify. She knew Bucky understood which night she meant. Flashes of a sunset and the smell of sweat hit her like a freight train, taking her back to the night they met.

"Because I tricked you?" Bucky half-joked.

Natasha shook her head. "No, dork, because you were confident and funny and so sure of yourself. It was enthralling." She twisted so she could face him. "What happened?"

Bucky refused to look at her, hanging his head instead, as he tried to figure out exactly what she was asking. Natasha didn't blame him. She wasn't quite sure what she was asking either.

What happened to them? _Obvious_.

What happened to him? _Less obvious_.

What happened to make him leave? _Impossible_.

"Geez," Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. "How did everything get so screwed up?"

"We were in love, then you left me. That's the 'how,' but I'm still a little fuzzy on the 'why' of it all."

Bucky shook his head. "I can't. It's too much. I can't deal." He stopped, realizing what she said and how she said it. "_Were_ in love? Tasha, sorry, Natasha. I'm still in love with you. I'll always be in love with you. I know I messed it up, but I had something going on. Something bad, and I didn't want to drag you into it. Doesn't change how I feel about you." He turned toward her, and they locked stares. Natasha nearly lost herself in his blue eyes.

"I know," she whispered. "And I'll probably always love you, too. Something about never forgetting your first, and all that."

Seemingly seized by a manic force, Bucky pushed off the railing and paced in front of her.

"If I could, I'd take it back, take it all back, I would. You gotta know that. There's nothing I wouldn't do. Please, please, please know that, Natasha. I know I messed up, and I am so sorry about that. I know there's nothing I can do to fix it now, but if there was, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I can't tell you why I left cause I don't wanna put you in danger, but I'd do anything else. You gotta believe me on that, okay? You gotta believe how sorry I am, please."

"I believe you, Bucky."

He stopped his manic pacing and looked at her. "Good."

Something in his expression changed, and Natasha had to look away. With just one look, she'd been reminded of endless days and nights between them. An infinite, perfect present mixed with hopes for a future that would be stolen from her before she knew it. He'd been one of the only good things in her life, and she'd been his.

Each memory cut at her like a knife. Each wound bled with remembrance.

Sometimes being a teenager really sucked.

Natasha sniffled.

"You okay?" Bucky asked, his voice low and full of concern.

Natasha shook her head. "No," she sniffed. "No, I'm not okay. I wish we could go back. Back before you left. Before my mom… Before all of this. I know we can't, but everything hurts now. Everything sucks." She turned back to him, allowing the tears to fall freely. "But wishing isn't going to do a damn thing."

Bucky looked like he didn't know what to do. Natasha realized he was torn between trying to respect her wishes and wanting to comfort her.

"What happened to your mom?" Bucky asked.

Natasha sniffed once more before she completely fell apart. One second she was shaking and feeling colder than she should in the early autumn air and the next she was wrapped up in Bucky's warm, hesitant arms. He'd succumbed to his need to comfort her, although he felt like he was prepared to pull away at any moment. Selfishly wanting to stay like they were, if only for a little while, Natasha wrapped her own arms around his waist and squeezed as she explained everything in between hiccups and sobs. Bucky rubbed her back and made soothing noises, and—for the first time in a year—Natasha finally felt okay.

"I'm so sorry, Natasha. I had no idea," Bucky murmured into her hair. "I should've been there."

Natasha blinked.

She blinked again.

And again.

"Should've been there?" she echoed. "Should've been there?!"

She shoved away from his embrace.

"Yeah. You should've been there. I spent months crying over you and then my mom died, and I had no one to talk to. Clint was dealing with his own thing, and I needed you. Do you understand? I was in pain, and I needed you, but you were gone. And I've tried to convince myself that I hate you for leaving without a word, but I can't even do that because I still love you, you idiot." She huffed. "I guess we're both idiots."

Natasha looked at Bucky. Really looked at him. He looked like he hated himself more than she could ever hate him. Without thinking, she launched herself at him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

_Hard. _

She poured every emotion, every feeling into that one kiss. All the pain, hurt, confusion. All the love, too. Everything she felt; everything she'd ever felt.

Then it was over.

Before Bucky could recover, Natasha turned and fled.

* * *

***A/N:** So, this was supposed to be parts 6-10, but the part 10 I wrote was a lot shorter than I wanted. I'm still working on it, so expect Vol. 3 soon.


	31. Chapter 31

**Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band**:** Vol. 3 (Part 10)**

**[Part Ten: Don't Stop Believin'] **

**Bucky**

Bucky blinked. Natasha was gone, but he still felt her presence. He could still taste her on his mouth. He touched his lips, dazed by the kiss. It had been unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

_She still loves me. _

_I still have a chance._

With those two thoughts circling 'round and 'round inside his head, Bucky smiled to himself and headed back inside.

**Natasha**

_Just keep running. Just keep running. _

Natasha stumbled through The Tower, half-blind from the remaining tears that lingered in her eyes.

_What have I done?_

**Tony**

When Natasha burst through the balcony doors, her violent movements were largely ignored. Everyone was too busy having fun. Not many saw the redhead make a beeline for the exit, tears in her eyes.

Then again, no one had been waiting for her to appear.

Tony had. He'd been waiting impatiently ever since he watched her follow Bucky out onto the balcony.

For a moment, he thought of chasing after her, but Pepper's hand seized his before he could take a step.

**Pepper**

Pepper wanted to hate Natasha for distracting Tony once again, but the damned girl had been right. It wasn't Natasha's fault that Tony was apparently obsessed with her. It wasn't her fault that Tony couldn't tear his eyes away from the balcony doors. It wasn't her fault that he took a step in Natasha's direction the second she re-entered the room.

No. This was between her and Tony.

_"…love isn't about controlling someone. That's not love. Love needs trust." _

Pepper looked down at the hand desperately clutching to someone who clearly wanted to be somewhere else. She looked up and saw the longing in Tony's eyes, his gaze transfixed on the exit. She looked around the room at the committed couples singing along to the last song of the night. Smiles and embraces all around her. Warmth and love filled the room, but she felt cold.

Pepper swallowed past the lump in her throat.

She let go.

**Steve**

_What did that idiot do? _

Ever since he watched Natasha follow Bucky out onto the balcony, Steve had a sinking feeling in his gut. Now that she'd reappeared—in tears, no less—that feeling had gotten a whole lot worse.

When Bucky finally came back in, Steve didn't know what to think. His best friend had a dazed yet satisfied look on his face. Then he said the last thing he ever expected Bucky to say.

"She kissed me, man," Bucky said with a grin. "I still have a chance."

Steve wanted to warn him against celebrating too soon.

_I need to talk to her. _

Steve pulled out his phone.

**Bruce**

_"She kissed me, man… I still have a chance." _

Right time, right place? Or was it wrong time, wrong place? Regardless, Bruce heard it all, saw it all on his way back from the bathroom.

Natasha running.

Natasha crying.

Tony watching.

Pepper stopping.

Bucky grinning.

Bruce's world was spinning.

**Clint**

He was half-way through Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" when Clint spotted a flash of familiar red curls streaking through the room at an enviable speed.

_Natasha? _

Clint's eyes followed her through the room as she made her way to the exit. If only he could see her face.

As the song was nearing its end, Natasha disappeared. Troubled by the odd behavior, Clint looked around the room and spotted Bucky walking back through the balcony doors—the direction Natasha had been running from. Even though the song was not yet over, Clint left his buddies to finish on their own and dashed off the stage. He took off after Natasha.

**Natasha**

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. _

Natasha's feet hit the ground with each syllable, pushing her further and faster with each beat of the endless refrain.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. _

Another pair of footsteps. Someone shouting her name. Bucky? Tony? Clint? It didn't matter. She needed to get away.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. _

Natasha pushed harder. She made the football team for a reason. She could outrun whomever was chasing her.  
But, no matter how far or how fast she ran, she knew she couldn't escape the little voice in her head screaming: _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. _

She ran until her muscles ached, then she ran some more. She ran until she couldn't hear the person calling her name, then she ran some more. She ran until she didn't recognize anything around her, but—still—she kept running. Only when her legs gave out from beneath her, only when she practically collapsed from exhaustion, only when she was too tired that even the little voice couldn't bear to whisper another malicious syllable, did Natasha finally stop running.

Natasha found herself in a park when her vision stopped going in and out. She half-dragged her fatigued body over to a tree and dropped down on the grass beneath it.

The world around her was quiet. Her brain was quiet.

Her phone buzzed, piercing the peaceful silence.

_Dammit. _

Natasha thought about ripping her phone out of her pocket and tossing it as far as she could into the darkness.

It was Steve: _We need to talk. _

**Steve**

Bucky spent the entire ride back to Steve's house in a happy, little daze. He kept muttering to himself and grinning in a way that worried Steve.

Hours passed without hearing back from Natasha, which only worried Steve more.

Bucky was finally out cold, sleeping peacefully with that same, stupid grin on his face when Steve's phone finally buzzed with Natasha's reply.

_Meet me the Mall tomorrow. 10 am. _


	32. Chapter 32

**With a Little Help from My Friends**

"Romanoff!" Steve shouted the moment he jumped out of his truck.

Natasha winced. Between her hoodie, sunglasses, and position—purposefully posted up on the far corner of the entrance of the building and partially obscured by a fenced-in tree—it should've been obvious that she was trying to lay low. Either Steve Rogers didn't understand that, or he didn't care. Natasha was willing to bet it was a mixture of both after what happened the night before.

She nodded in silent greeting and took a sip of her coffee.

Ever the Boy Scout, Steve looked both ways before crossing the street that separated the parking lot from the mall. He jogged quickly across out of respect for a waiting car, throwing a friendly wave of gratitude for good measure.

"You can call me Natasha, you know," Natasha pointed out as Steve joined her behind the tree. "Or Nat. That's what Clint calls me."

"So, _Natasha_, why'd you wanna meet here?" Steve gestured to the mall. He looked different from how he usually did. It took Natasha a moment for her to realize that it was because he was wearing glasses.

"Um," Natasha subconsciously adjusted her own sunglasses, pushing them farther up her nose. "It's Clint's birthday in a week, and I still haven't got him a present. Thought I'd do it today since it was the only excuse I could give him that would make him leave me alone." She held up a second cup. "Coffee?"

Steve shook his head. "No thanks. Caffeine stunts your growth."

Natasha sized him up. "And we wouldn't want that. What are you? 6 foot? Why, you're practically a Hobbit."

"You're hilarious," Steve deadpanned.

"I try."

"So, uh, you ready to go in, or…" Steve gesture toward the front entrance.

"One sec." Natasha finished off her coffee and quickly downed the second, relishing the pain as the hot liquid burned her throat. She took a deep breath. "Okay. Now I'm ready."

Most of the shops were just opening up as Natasha and Steve entered the mall. Aside from a few elderly mall walkers, the place was pretty empty. Only a few early morning shoppers were present. Natasha presumed that their peers would be too busy enjoying the last days of nice weather to want to spend a day inside. Either that or they'd still be sleeping after the late night at The Tower. Regardless, it looked like her plan had worked. As far as Natasha could tell, she and Steve were the only two high schoolers there.

"Wanna get something to eat first?" she asked, knowing that Steve would probably want to discuss the "Bucky" situation. She figured it would be better to get that whole conversation over and done with as soon as possible. Like ripping off a surgically attached Band-Aid. Or an arm.

"Sure," Steve replied casually.

They headed to the food court where they parted ways briefly before reconvening at a table in the furthest corner of the wide room. Steve had opted for a healthy hodgepodge of fruit, yogurt, and oats as well as an egg sandwich on bread that must've been 87% seeds. He'd also managed to snag three plastic bottles of milk.

Natasha looked down at her own meal—a slice of pizza larger than her face and another black coffee—and sighed.

"So…" Steve began.

"So…" Natasha echoed.

"You kissed Bucky."

_And they were off. _

"That is…accurate."

"Probably not the best idea you've ever had."

Natasha grimaced. "Harsh, but fair." She fiddled with a bit of crust. "Then again, it wasn't so much an 'idea' as it was an unwitting impulse. Honestly, I might've been possessed."

"Possessed?"

"Mind control, maybe?"

Steve leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. Natasha groaned.

"Look, Steve, I messed up. I know that. It was a moment of weakness, and now I gotta figure out what I'm going to do about it."

Steve was silent for a moment. Natasha started to squirm under his contemplative gaze.

"Why'd you do it?" he finally asked.

"I don't know."

"Why'd you do it?"

"I said, 'I don't know'."

"Why'd you do it?"

Natasha squinted at him. "Are you deaf? I said, 'I don't know'."

Steve pursed his lips. "Why. Did. You. Do. It?"

Struggling to bite back a howl of frustration, Natasha slumped down in her seat. "Cause I'm not over him?"

"Is that a question?"

"I'm not over him," Natasha repeated with a little more conviction.

"He thinks he has a chance," Steve said. "Is he right?"

"I don't know."

"Is he right?"

"Honestly, Steve. I don't know," she snapped. "And if you repeat yourself again, I will shove each of those milk bottles into your various orifices."

Thankfully, Steve didn't repeat himself. He _did_ raise an eyebrow, however, and Natasha could practically hear the question.

"No? Yes?" she offered. "I seriously don't know. What I do know, is that I'm confused."

"Why?"

Natasha shrugged. "Cause I loved him. If he hadn't left, I'd probably still be with him. I had it pretty rough growing up, and—aside from Clint—Bucky was the first person I ever felt close to, that I could be myself with, you know? He was special to me in a way no one had ever been or has been since, and that's a hard thing to let go of, no matter what happens."

"He's my best friend," Steve said simply. "I don't want to see him get hurt."

"I know," Natasha murmured. "And as mad at him as I was, am, I don't want to see him get hurt either, especially by me. No matter what's happened between us."

"Which is why you need to figure out what you're feeling, what you want, so you can be honest with him. Preferably as soon as possible."

"Can you not be so insightful right now? It's infuriating."

Steve grinned. "Sorry. I'll try to tone it down."

Natasha snorted. "Thanks for not being a butthead about this."

"No problem."

Steve went back to eating his breakfast while Natasha continued pulling her pizza apart. She couldn't bring herself to eat it.

"I'm confused."

"About?" Steve prompted.

"In general."

"Obviously."

"Shut up, Steve," Natasha said, ignoring Steve's grin. "I think I'm confused in general. Bucky hurt me, but I still have all these," she gagged, "_feelings_."

"Happens to the best of us."

Natasha laughed but stopped short, studying Steve as he nonchalantly finished off a bottle of milk.

"Thanks."

Steve looked up at her. "For what?"

"For this," she said, gesturing between them. "For not being, you know, like I said, a butthead. About this, about today, about everything with Bucky. You've been pretty cool about everything in general."

"What can I say? I'm a pretty cool guy, I guess."

"You are such a nerd," she shot back. "I'm being serious."

"So am I."

Natasha groaned. "No, you're not. Now, shut up, and let me compliment you. I was really nervous about meeting up with you today after last night."

Steve looked genuinely concerned. "Why?"

"Because. This could've gone pretty bad. I know you're his best friend. You have this whole protective vibe about you. I wasn't sure how you were going to react, but—I gotta say—you've actually been really helpful and kind, and I just really appreciate it, so…thanks. Thank you, Steve. I mean it."

"Listen, Natasha. Yes, Bucky's my best friend, but you're my friend, too…unless I completely misread our dinner the other night. You're also my teammate and a human being. What kind of friend and teammate would I be if I held something like that against you? What kind of man would I be?"

"Again, with the insightfulness. Damn, Rogers, you're on a roll."

"I try."

When Steve finished his breakfast and it was clear that Natasha had no intention of following suit, they both discarded their trash and set off in search of a birthday gift for Clint.

"Where to first?" Steve asked.

"The electronics store. Clint's a bit of a high-class techie, so I thought I'd start there."

"'Kay, Nat. Lead the way."

_Nat._

Natasha smiled.

* * *

"I still don't understand why you felt the need to drag me to the mall at this godforsaken hour," Tony grumbled.

"It's almost 11," Bruce repeated for what had to be the thousandth time in less than an hour. "And because we need some supplies for the Ultron project."

Tony mumbled something unintelligible and slid reluctantly out of the car. Bruce joined him outside, and they started walking toward the entrance. Tony was still grumbling.

Bruce rolled his eyes. "What now, Tony?"

"All I'm saying is that if you pull someone out of bed at the crack of—"

"It's 11."

"—way-the-hell-before-dawn—"

"Practically noon, Tony."

"—then the least you could do, is bring that person coffee."

"Oh, for the love of—Fine!—I'll buy you a cup of coffee at the food court. Happy?"

Tony wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Food court coffee? Really?"

"Tony! I swear—"

"Check out Bruce the Rage Monster. I'm messing with you. I'd love some food court coffee," Tony said with a lazy, lopsided grin. "Try not to have a conniption, dear."

Now it was Bruce's turn to grumble under his breath.

It took two coffees and a burger before Tony announced that he was properly awake. He hopped up and took the lead as they made their way toward the electronics store.

* * *

When Bucky arrived at the mall it was nearly noon. Steve had told him he needed to make a quick trip there but turned down Bucky's offer of company. An hour or so of sitting alone was too much for Bucky, so he hopped on his bike to take a ride. Ending up at the mall hadn't been his intention, but he really didn't think Steve would mind.

If anything, Bucky could use the unexpected trip to find something for Natasha.

A gift. A token.

Something to show how sorry he was. Something to show how much he cared.

How much he loved her.

* * *

"And if you guys need anything else, I've been Aaron," the twenty-something store clerk offered as he leered lustfully at Steve.

"Uh, thanks, we'll let you know," Steve choked out as he tried to ignore Natasha's smirk. When "Aaron" took the hint and wandered away, Steve turned on Natasha. "That was mean. You're mean. Just really, really, really mean."

"What?" Natasha asked, trying to look as innocent as possible.

Steve narrowed his eyes. "You know what."

"Oh, come on, Steve. What was I supposed to do?" she insisted, but Steve wasn't listening.

"Instigator? No, that's not it. Enabler. Yes. Enabler. You, Natasha Romanoff, are an enabler. And an instigator."

"I was just making conversation," Natasha tried to argue as she shook with laughter.

"And just a terrible person to boot."

"Has anyone ever told you you're a total drama queen, Steve?"

"Uh, yeah, him," Steve said, pointing at someone behind Natasha.

It was Tony and Bruce.

_Crap. _

"What are they doing here?" Natasha stammered.

"If I had to take a wild guess, I'd say they're shopping for electronics."

"Have they seen us?"

"I don't think so. Is everything okay? I thought you guys were friends. If anyone should be freaking out it should be—well, not me 'cause I don't care, but it certainly shouldn't be you."

Natasha turned on her heel and ducked behind a display, pulling Steve with her.

"What's going on, Natasha?"

"It's a whole thing that I really don't want to get into right now. Long story short, I'm really not in the right frame of mind to deal with Tony and Bruce right now. Oh no, they're coming. Come on," she hissed, pulling Steve with her as she weaved in and out of the aisles.

"Just so you know," Steve noted, "we probably look ridiculous. And that's only if we don't look like thieves."

"Less talking, more running away," Natasha ordered.

"Running, right. So, we can look even more like thieves. That makes perfect sense."

Eventually, they made it out of the electronics store and a good distance away, giving Natasha some room and time to breath. Only then was she comfortable enough to slow down.

"So, you wanna explain what just happened?" Steve asked.

"No."

"Cool. So, what now? You didn't get Clint a gift."

"We can go back in a bit when they're gone, right?"

"Sure."

"Is there anything you need while we wait?"

"An explanation would be nice," Steve reiterated.

"Anything else?"

Steve stared at her, waiting for an explanation that wouldn't come. He sighed. "New glasses, I guess."

Natasha snorted. "After you," she said, gesturing for him to lead the way.

Together, Steve and Natasha took the escalator upstairs to Perfect Vision.

* * *

"Huh," Bruce muttered.

"What?"

"I could've sworn I just saw…"

"What, Dr. Frank-N-Furter? I'm shivering with antici…"

"Natasha."

"—pation… What? Natasha? Natasha Romanoff? Why didn't you say something?"

"I was trying, but you kept interrupting me."

"That's not my fault," Tony argued.

"Kinda is," Bruce countered.

"Well, where did she go?"

Bruce shrugged. "I don't know, Tony. Besides, I'm not even sure it was her. Whoever it was, she was with some big, blond dude in a hat and glasses."

"Clint?"

"No. Much taller. And I've never seen Clint wear glasses. Plus, this dude was big."

"Big, how?"

"Muscle-y."

"Ah," Tony exhaled. "So, not Natasha, then."

"Guess not," Bruce agreed. "Have we got everything?"

Tony looked down at the mess of wires and packaging in their basket. "I think so."

"Good. Let's pay and get out of here. I hate the mall."

"Sure, dear, but I need to hit Perfect Vision while we're here."

"_Tony_."

"Hey, man. You're the one who dragged me here. You have no one to blame but yourself."

* * *

As Bucky wandered the lower level of the mall, he couldn't seem to find anything good enough for Natasha.

The mall had three levels and at least a hundred stores and kiosks. Wandering all over the place would take all day.

Just as he was about to take the escalator up to the second level, Bucky spotted an information map.

_It couldn't hurt to take a peek. Maybe cut down on time, right? _

Bucky marched back to the sign.

* * *

"Think it's safe yet?"

Natasha peeked around the corner and tried to angle herself so she could see the entrance to the electronics store on the floor below.

"No idea, Natasha," Steve replied, sounding as bored as he looked. "Can we just go?"

"I guess…"

"Great!" Steve hopped up from the bench he'd been lounging on and grabbed Natasha's hand, pulling her toward the escalator.

They'd barely stepped on the moving staircase when they both spotted the two people Natasha was desperately trying to avoid coming up on the opposite side. Natasha twisted back to face Steve.

"Kiss me."

"What? No," Steve protested. "You have a problem," he added. "A kissing problem."

"Not for that. Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable," she explained.

"Yes, they do—"

Natasha cut him off, snaking one hand around Steve's neck and pulling his face down to hers. Their lips didn't quite touch, but it would certainly look like they were two teenagers making out to anyone around them. Natasha held Steve in place until they reached the end of the escalator. Just before she let go, she peeked over his shoulder to make sure Tony and Bruce weren't watching. Steve watched the color drain rapidly from her face. He turned.

Tony Stark and Bruce Banner were standing at the top of the escalator, staring pointedly at them, a mixture of confusion and disgust on both of their faces.

"What the hell, man?" another voice came from behind Steve and Natasha, making both of their stomachs drop simultaneously. They whipped their heads around to find an angry Bucky standing just off to the side with murder in his eyes.

And everyone was far too distracted to notice another set of eyes watching them all.

* * *

***Song Inspiration**: "With a Little Help from My Friends" - The Beatles


	33. Chapter 33

**Girl All the Bad Guys Want (pt. 1) **

Bruce and Tony made it down the escalator just as Bucky Barnes lunged at Steve Rogers.

"Buck! Stop!" Steve shouted, but the fire in Bucky's eyes burned with a fierce determination; he had no intention of stopping.

Until Natasha blocked his path, that is.

Bucky recoiled when Natasha stepped in between him and Steve, effectively quelling his murderous rage. His gaze bounced from Natasha's face to Steve's and then back again before falling in defeat.

"I can't believe that you would…" Bucky murmured, pointing at Steve. "With her…" he added, gesturing to Natasha. "After everything you and I…after everything we…"

"It's not what you think," Steve insisted.

"Then what is it?" Tony interjected.

Bruce, along Steve and Bucky, turned to look at him. Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce noticed that Natasha was the only one _not_ looking at Tony. In fact, she was pointedly avoiding any eye contact whatsoever with him.

Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times, evidently searching for an answer. "Well," he began, but Tony cut him off.

"Not interested, Golden Boy. I was talking to Miss Romanoff."

Everyone redirected their attention toward the redhead trying to hide behind Steve's massive frame.

"Oh, um," Natasha stammered under the pressure of everyone's eyes on her. "I, well, I was… Here's the thing…" she trailed off.

"Natasha?" Steve spoke softly, laying a large hand on her shoulder. In comfort, in solidarity, in affection—Bruce wasn't sure.

"Please," Steve pleaded, his eyes conveying some secret message to Natasha. "You have to tell him."

_Him_. Who was "_him_"?

"It wasn't a real kiss," Natasha finally said, keeping her head down and eyes averted. She spoke so quietly that they could barely hear her. "I was trying to hide, so I made it look like we were kissing. I thought that would work, but…" she trailed off.

"Hide? What were you hiding from?" Bucky asked, his temper easing by the second.

Natasha's eyes flickered toward Tony.

"I made a mistake last night," she continued, still avoiding direct eye contact with any of them. "I wasn't ready to deal with it, so…"  
"A mistake?" Bucky choked.

"Mistake?" Tony echoed.

They both looked at one another, then Natasha. The unspoken tension rose, threatening to suffocate them. Passersby paid them no attention and were forgotten in return. For a moment, they were the only six people in the mall.

Then, Natasha bolted.

Bruce and the others watched as Natasha disappeared into the crowd, leaving the rest of them to deal with the fallout.

* * *

_"I made a mistake last night."_

_A mistake_… Natasha had said this right after looking at Tony.

Bruce eyed his tightlipped best friend. Tony hadn't spoken a word since Natasha left. Instead, he'd kept his thoughts to himself and allowed Bruce to lead the way back to the car. Tony drove wordlessly back to his house, leaving Bruce to envision an infinite onslaught of unpleasant things that Natasha might've meant.

_A mistake…_

Then again, Bucky had looked like he was moments away from an aneurysm of his own when Natasha said that. Maybe the mistake had something to do with him.

_A mistake…_

Bruce snuck another glance at Tony as they pulled into his driveway. Tony's face was drained of all color.

_A mistake…_

As they unloaded their purchases in the workshop, Tony's silence persisted. For a while, Bruce tried to work in this emotionally altered environment, only speaking to Tony out of necessity. Sometimes he got a monosyllabic reply; sometimes he received no reply at all. The entire time, images flashed through his subconscious on an endless loop.

_A mistake…_

Tony knew something, that was for sure. He wouldn't be so quiet otherwise. Could the mistake have been "mistakes"? Natasha had been very careful to explain the situation to the floor instead of them, but maybe that was on purpose. She knew at least some of the history between Tony and Bucky.

_A mistake or mistakes?_

_A single in place of a plural to avoid further complications? _

Something started to bubble in the pit of Bruce's gut. Something dark and ugly. Something strangely similar to jealously.

_A mistake… _

_Between Natasha and Tony? _

Bruce froze.

"I gotta go," he muttered.

Tony nodded mindlessly. Bruce wasn't even sure Tony had heard him.

As he walked home, that _something_ continued to bubble and hiss and spit inside him, threatening to rise to the surface.

* * *

On Monday morning, Bruce accepted Tony's usual offer of a ride to school. This Tony was noticeably different from the one he'd left on Saturday afternoon. He was chatting animatedly about his usual nonsense as if nothing had happened. Bruce tried to smile and nod along, but he kept waiting for an explanation. It was only when they pulled into the parking lot at school that he finally got one.

Like every day before this one, Happy's car was parked in its customary spot while its owner waited inside. When Tony and Bruce pulled into the adjacent spot, Happy hopped out and rushed around to the passenger side to help Pepper out of the car. This, too, was a common occurrence. On this day, however, Happy didn't let go of Pepper's hand—a not-too-common occurrence. In fact, it'd never happened before.

Bruce looked to Tony and then to Rhodey, who'd been leaning against his own car, to gauge their reactions to this new development. As far as he knew, Pepper and Tony had gotten back together the second week of school. And while Tony wasn't an inherently jealous person, he knew Happy always had a thing for Pepper. Bruce wouldn't put it past Tony to take issue with his friend's overt friendliness with his girlfriend.

But Tony had noticed, and he didn't seem to care.

Not one bit.

Instead, Tony was searching the parking lot for something else… Or someone else. When his eyes landed on a now-familiar set of red curls, Tony's entire face lit up like a kid on Christmas.

Bruce quickly put two and two together.

Tony and Pepper were over.

Tony still liked Natasha.

Tony had given him more than enough time to make a move per their gentleman's agreement.

Something (_A mistake…?_) had happened between Tony and Natasha.

And if Bruce didn't make a move soon (unless he was already too late), it'd be over for him.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

With a mumbled farewell, Bruce took off in the direction of his first class with a fiercely renewed sense of purpose.

* * *

No matter how early Bruce arrived each morning. Loki always managed to beat him to the science lab. Their partner projects ended the week before, but Loki refused to give up his stolen seat and lovely lab partner. To make matters worse, he seemed to enjoy rubbing his thievery in Bruce's face every morning with a smug smirk and a wink or two.

Dr. Pym's class was incredibly difficult, and several students had put in for class transfers during the first few weeks, freeing up the table behind Natasha's usual seat. Bruce settled in and started rereading his homework, hoping the distraction would take his mind off the possible (probable?) development between Natasha and Tony, as well as Loki's stupid face.

As the minute hand on the clock ticked toward the top of the hour, students began reluctantly filing into class. Even though he didn't look up, Bruce was keenly aware of Natasha as she entered the room and took her customary seat next to Loki.

"Ah, Miss Romanoff, how was your weekend?"

Bruce held his breath, waiting for her reply.

"Hey, Loki," she replied in that velvety voice of hers. "It was okay. Yours?"

"Can't complain." A pause. "Well, I could, but it'd be awfully unattractive, if I do say so myself."

Natasha chuckled softly.

"Have you thought any more on my proposition?"

Bruce froze.

_Proposition? _

Natasha was quiet. Then, "I'm not sure I'm going to go." A pause. "But I'll let you know if I do."

"Not waiting for a better offer, are you?" Loki's tone was teasing but there was an edge to it.

"Of course not. It's just…after everything that's happened over the last few weeks, I'm not sure if the dance is a good idea right now."

"I understand completely," Loki assured her. "If you're not interested in going to the dance next Saturday, I would be more than happy to treat you to dinner. Perhaps a movie, maybe?"

"Like…a date?"

"No, Miss Romanoff," Loki countered with a dark chuckle. "Not 'like a date.' I am proposing an honest, old fashioned, no guessing needed date in which I pick you up—flowers and all—and steal you away for a night of romantic intent."

The world's longest pause. Bruce's jaw hurt from the pressure of grinding his teeth together as he waited for Natasha's reply.

"Romantic intent?" Natasha snorted. "That has to be one of the cheesiest things I've ever heard."

"I aim to please," Loki replied nonchalantly.

"I'm sure you do," Natasha agreed. "But it's like I said, I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I'll let you know. Give me the week to think about it?"

"Anything for you, Miss Romanoff."

The bell rang, effectively putting a stop to their conversation as Dr. Pym strode into class and plunged headfirst into his lecture. Bruce couldn't focus on a word the teacher said. Instead, he dissected every word, every pause, and every piece of subtext he'd heard during his recent episode of eavesdropping.

When the bell rang again, signaling the end of class, Natasha was out of her seat and gone before either Bruce or Loki could blink. Bruce made a mental note of that as well.

* * *

Lunch confirmed Bruce's suspicions about the new Tony-Pepper-Happy development. Pepper spent the entire hour perched on Happy's lap without so much as a peep from Tony, although, to be fair, he might not have noticed this time. Tony's sole interest was in watching the door, blinking only when he absolutely had to. When the hour ended without so much as a glimpse of red hair, Tony's crestfallen face provided yet another clue to Bruce's growing suspicions.

Several other people were absent from lunch, as well. The most notable of these included Steve Rogers. Regardless of Natasha's excuse on Saturday, Bruce couldn't stop the doubt that settled on his chest like a slab of lead. Loki and Bucky Barnes were also missing from the crowded cafeteria, doing nothing to quell Bruce's concerns.

* * *

After school, Bruce joined Tony and a few others on the bleachers to watch football practice. Natasha was there, of course, but she spent the entire time interacting with as few people as possible. She spoke only to the team captain, Steve Rogers, when she had to, and spent the rest of the time chatting exclusively with a trio of sophomore girls.

When practice ended, Tony tried to follow Natasha off the field, but she disappeared into the girls' locker room with the trio before he could catch up to her. Bruce stayed behind, seizing the opportunity to catch an interesting exchange between Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers.

Although he couldn't hear much, it seemed like everything between the life-long friends had been settled since the disastrous meeting at the mall. But when Bucky left him to go get changed, Steve's attention strayed toward the girl's locker room instead of following his best friend to the boy's, his expression inscrutable.

* * *

Bruce was notating the events of the day later that night when he heard the unmistakable _ding!_ of his M3 account. He was pleasantly surprised to see the incoming message alert icon affixed to Natasha's profile picture. For a moment, Bruce allowed the mouse to hover over her avatar as he briefly considered waiting. It'd been ages since they'd last spoken one-on-one, even electronically, so her message was certainly out of the blue. Maybe if he waited before checking it, he could gain the upper hand. Or he could check it and leave it on "read." That would serve her right for all but flat-out ignoring him for the last two weeks.

Bruce sighed.

He hated when other people played those kind of games, and petty thoughts and actions wouldn't exactly endear him to Natasha.

Bruce sighed again and opened the message.

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Hey, Bruce. It's been a minute. I dipped out of biochem so quick that I forgot to write down the assignment. Help a friend out? _

If Bruce continued clenching his jaw so tightly, he'd end up grinding his teeth down to the gums.

_Friend? Hah. _

He was debating between sending a passive-aggressive message that he could always explain away and just giving her the information and being done with it when another message popped up.

**_N. Romanoff_**_: I also wanted to apologize for Saturday. Not my best moment, I know, but I've been going through some stuff. It's been a whole thing. So, sorry. _

_Dammit! _Bruce thought, groaning inwardly. Her apology and his partial knowledge of her circumstances made it really difficult to stay annoyed with Natasha.

**_B. Banner_**_: Sorry to hear that. Glad it wasn't something I'd done. I was concerned since we haven't spoken in a while. _

**_B. Banner_**_: Of course, I have the assignment. _

[User **B. Banner** sent PDF attachment to **N. Romanoff**].

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Thanks, Bruce! You're the best. _

**_N. Romanoff_**_: But why would I be mad at you? _

"Gah!" Bruce exclaimed aloud. He hadn't thought that one through. Of course, he knew she wasn't mad at him. Her attentions had been elsewhere. "How can I fix this, so she won't know I'm some kind of jealous weirdo?" Bruce dropped his head down, letting it fall on the desk with a heavy thud.

_Ding!_

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Hello?_

With an agonizing groan, Bruce sent the best thing he could think of: the truth.

**_B. Banner_**_: Not mad, I guess. Just not interested, you know? _

**_B. Banner_**_: Tony mentioned that he talked to you about me. When I didn't hear from you, I figured you weren't interested, so I wanted to give you your space. _

The time between hitting "send" on those two messages and Natasha's reply popping up was excruciatingly long.

Finally,

**_N. Romanoff_**_: I understand. _

"'I understand?' What the hell does that mean?" Bruce demanded of the empty room.

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Although, how am I supposed to get to know you if you're never around? Makes it kinda hard, don't you think?_

"Huh," Bruce huffed, leaning back in his chair.

**_B. Banner_**_: It's official. I'm an idiot._

**_N. Romanoff_**_: -_-_

**_N. Romanoff_**_: No, you're not. We have two classes together, remember? _

**_B. Banner_**_: There are different types of intelligence. I might be book smart, but when it comes to social interaction, I am woefully lacking in both experience and knowledge. _

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Hmm. Fair enough, I'll give you that one._

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Can I make a recommendation? _

**_B. Banner_**_: Sure. Anything helps. _

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Practice. _

**_N. Romanoff_**_: It's not like you don't have friends or haven't had a girlfriend, so I know you have some practice. _

**_N. Romanoff_**_: But you gotta keep going. Keep putting yourself out there, or you'll miss out on everything life has to offer. _

Bruce read and reread her message again and again. Was she hinting at something? Were her words innocent?

**_B. Banner_**_: Natasha Romanoff, ladies and gentlemen, the real genius. _

**_N. Romanoff_**_: __?_

**_N. Romanoff_**_: Oh, you…_

_Were they flirting?_

For the first time in a long time, Bruce felt something like hope flicker in his chest.

* * *

***A/N**: This chapter was split into two parts because I wanted to give y'all something sooner rather than later. I'm playing with perspective for the second half, and it's taking some time.

I also really want to get feedback on this chapter (direction, style, etc.,), so I know how best to proceed with part 2 and the subsequent story line.


	34. Chapter 34

**Girl All the Bad Guys Want (pt. 2)**

**hope** (noun)

1\. desire accompanied by expectation of or belief in fulfillment

2\. _archaic_: TRUST, RELIANCE

**hope** (verb)

1\. to cherish a desire with anticipation : to want something to happen or be true

2\. _archaic_: TRUST

**hope **(transitive verb)

1\. to desire with expectation of obtainment or fulfillment

2\. to expect with confidence: TRUST

Synonyms of **hope**:

_wish, dream, desire, expect…_

What did he expect? This was the question that plagued Bruce day in and day out following Monday night's revelations from his chat with Natasha.

The hope that flickered in his chest like a spark had grown, fanned by hours and hours of back and forth banter that got easier as time went on until they were both forced to sign off and go to sleep. Even so, long after Bruce wished Natasha "good night," he remained awake, warmed by the gentle flame of hope dancing in his heart. When sleep finally claimed him, Bruce drifted off with a smile on his face, consumed entirely by a raging wildfire of hope.

But fire is dangerous.

And so is hope.

Bruce knew of the obstacles he faced when he climbed into the passenger seat of Tony's car Tuesday morning. He knew that he had overt opponents for Natasha's affections in Loki and Bucky Barnes. He knew that Tony was interested in pursuing her now that he was free to do so. And Bruce knew he could do nothing to stop Tony.

_The agreement…_

Bruce knew all of this, and—yet—nothing could extinguish his hope—

"I want to ask Natasha to homecoming," Tony announced as he parked in their usual spot.

—except that.

Tony wasn't looking at him. He was fidgeting uncomfortably under the weight of the sudden uncomfortable silence in the car.

Bruce winced. _This is my fault_, he thought. _He's waiting for me to freak out or something…_

Swallowing hard, past his discomfort and a tiny lump of jealousy, Bruce nodded. "Okay."

Tony risked a sideways glance in Bruce's direction; it didn't go unnoticed.

"Really?" Tony asked softly.

_No._

"Well, yeah, I guess," Bruce answered with a shrug. "I mean, you kept up your end of the bargain. Can't really be mad at you, can I?"

Tony considered this for a moment. "Thanks, buddy. That's pretty big of you."

"No problem." Bruce paused. "But Tony?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I'm probably going to ask her, too, okay?"

All of Tony's muscles visibly tensed. "What? I didn't know you two were…" he trailed off.

Deep down in the petty recesses of his mind, Bruce had to admit he was a bit pleased. Upon realizing that, he felt like the worst friend in the world and immediately chastised himself.

"We weren't, but we had a long chat last night," Bruce admitted. "I finally feel like I'm getting somewhere with her, you know?"

"So, um, do you want me to hold off then?"

If Bruce thought he felt like a bad friend before, he felt infinitely worse now. Most people thought of Tony as a selfish ass that waltzed through life without a care in the world or concern for anyone else except himself. Bruce knew better, though. Of course, Tony would offer to put aside his hopes in favor of their friendship, giving Bruce more time to get closer to Natasha.

Of-_freaking_-course.

"No," Bruce said, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it. Go ahead and ask her. If she says 'No,' then I'll ask her when I'm ready."

Silence.

"And if she says 'yes'?" Tony ventured hesitantly.

Bruce shrugged. "Then she says 'yes.' You gave me more than enough time to try, so I can't exactly hold her decision against you."

"And you won't be mad?"

"Mad? No. A little jealous? Maybe." Bruce gave what he hoped was an encouraging grin. "But that's not your problem; it's mine."

"And we'll still be friends," Tony's voice broke a bit, "no matter what happens, right?"

"Sure, Tony. Always."

Bruce and Tony stared at one another for a long moment as the tension in the car slowly evaporated. Then, Tony lunged over the middle console and wrapped Bruce in a body-crushing hug.

"ScienceBros for life, buddy."

Bruce snorted. "Yeah, man. For life."

Now that his friendship with Tony was safe and back on solid ground, Bruce was ready to take on the day with his renewed hope. The flames were more subdued now after Tony's admission, but Bruce refused to give up until he knew for sure.

Given Loki's interest in Natasha and his question the day before, Bruce was pleased to note an air of awkwardness between the mayor's son and his lab partner during first period. Bruce's entire life was just one, big awkward moment, so he was keenly aware of the strain between the two teenagers sitting in front of him. He was especially aware of Loki's cringe-worthy attempts at getting Natasha to engage with him all throughout class. If Bruce didn't despise Loki as much as he did, he might have felt sorry for the poor guy.

* * *

With September coming to an end, many of the students were determined to make the most of the remaining fair-weather days and eat lunch outside.

Much like the day before, Tony hardly bothered to feign interest in the idle banter of his friends. Instead, his eyes scanned the clusters of students surrounding them, no doubt searching for Natasha. Bruce, too, kept a wary eye out for red curls.

When Natasha finally appeared, she was flanked by several girls that had joined the football team with her and a pretty brunette that may or may not have been dating Clint Barton. Laura-something-or-other. Despite having ties to Bruce's group and the football team's group, the girls avoided both in favor of a stretch of grass a bit farther away.

Bruce was not the only one to notice this. Tony had as well. But while Tony was focused solely on the movements of Natasha and her friends, Bruce knew that several members of the group sitting with the team were likely waiting for Natasha as well. With that in mind, he reluctantly looked over in their direction.

He wasn't wrong.

Almost as soon as Natasha and her friends were seated, the entirety of the football team's male members eased themselves up off the ground and set a slow, deliberate pace in the girls' direction.

Tony, who still refused to focus on anything other than Natasha was also in the process of standing up. He'd barely gotten halfway up when Bruce snatched his forearm and tugged Tony back down to the ground.

"Hey, man. What gives?"

Bruce wasn't quite sure how to explain his reasoning for stopping Tony, so he merely pointed in Bucky Barnes's direction. "You might wanna hold off until she isn't surrounded by every guy in school who'd kick the crap outta you for even looking at her. Just a thought."

With a groan and a sigh, Tony relented, giving into Bruce's logical conclusion. Unfortunately, that meant they both had front row seats to the horror show that was about to unfold.

As some of the largest and most notable boys in the student body, the procession of Barnes and his buddies drew mass attention from every group they passed with the exception of Natasha and her friends who didn't notice until the dozen or so boys were nearly in front of them and fanning out into a semi-circle around the girls. A hush settled over the crowd as they watched and waited for whatever was about to happen.

Then, a soft, gentle sound pierced the air. It was Barnes's voice, clear and crisp, as he sang out the first note of Queen's "Somebody to Love." He was quickly joined by a surprisingly impressive chorus of voices from his usually rowdy friends.

Somewhere to his right, Pepper quietly clapped her hands with glee. "Ooh, I think it's a homecoming proposal. Oh, how sweet."

Tony blanched, and Bruce empathized.

When the song was over, Barnes pulled Natasha off to the side where they proceeded to spend the rest of the lunch in deep conversation. Bruce and Tony were too far away to catch the nature of their discussion, but he would later comment that Barnes wouldn't have looked so somber if she'd accepted. By the end of the day, Tony's assessment was confirmed by anyone in tune with the rumor mill. According to "reliable sources," Natasha had given Barnes the same answer she'd given Loki. Bruce wasn't sure if he should be relieved or concerned.

Tony opted for relief. To him, not accepting Barnes's proposal was as good as a refusal. Bruce doubted the logic and doubled down on that doubt when Tony went on to hypothesize that Natasha's rejection of Barnes was a sign that she was waiting for someone else to ask her.

"Could be me, could be you. Either way, it's better than him, am I right?" he asked jovially when he picked Bruce up for school Wednesday morning.

Bruce could only muster a half-hearted, non-committal grunt.

"—stole my idea, so I had to come up with something else. I hesitate to ask, but what do you think?"

Bruce hadn't been paying attention to whatever Tony was prattling on about. "Hm?"

"I was saying that Barnes stole my idea, so I'm brainstorming ideas. If you want, we could come up with two equally great ideas and help each other. How does that sound?"

Bruce's eyes widened. "That sounds objectively terrible, Tony."

Tony ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I guess you're right. My bad."

Unfortunately, that wasn't the only bad idea Tony had that day.

It happened during the last class of the day. Russian Lit had barely begun when a gaggle of freshmen boys burst into the room, each one wearing a suit and tie and holding a bouquet of white roses. Bruce thought he recognized one of the kids as Peter-what's-his-face, but he couldn't be certain. Still, thinking of the kid that had been awestruck by Tony was the only warning Bruce got before the intercom clicked on and a recording of Billy Joel's "The Longest Time" filtered through the speakers, followed quickly by Tony's voice.

"Miss Iglesias," (Bruce could practically hear Tony's self-indulgent smirk), "please accept these roses as a token of my affection." In the background, somebody was pounding on something and shouting unintelligibly. Bruce had little trouble picturing Tony barricading himself inside the Administration Office for this little stunt. "—And do me the honor of attending homecoming with me."

Bruce peeked over at Natasha. Although her eyes were a bit wider than usual, her demeanor was generally unchanged. She was taking this a lot better than he thought she would've. For the briefest of moments, Bruce deluded himself into thinking that maybe she wasn't aware this was even for her given Tony's use of their inside joke names, but the faint blush creeping up the back of her neck made the reality of her awareness all too clear.

For what had to have been the longest 7 minutes and 42 seconds of his life, Bruce tried to drown out Tony's wandering speech by dropping his head on the desk and focusing on the immediate throbbing pain that followed.

It didn't work, but he hadn't really expected it to.

Tony was working his way through a list of wildly escalating reasons that Natasha should go to homecoming with him and was on number 37 when the barricade was breached and the intercom forcefully cut off, but Tony still managed to squeeze in a final, "I eagerly await your decision."

Bruce knocked his head against the desk again, praying it was hard enough to knock himself out, but he wasn't that lucky. The best he could hope for was enough brain damage to forget his memory in time.

Tony was silent the entire car ride to his house. The only words he said to Bruce when they met up after Tony's inevitable detention were, "She didn't say yes."

At least Bruce had the decency not to smile in the face of his best friend's pain, but he would've been lying if the news didn't make him feel just a bit warm and fuzzy inside.

If three homecoming proposals in three days to the same girl was unusual, everyone in the school was egregiously unprepared for what happened Thursday.

First, there was an awkward, bumbling attempt from Thor that no one (possibly including him) quite understood the reason for. When Natasha asked him why, he'd just shrugged and lumbered off the field like a giant drunk zombie.

Then there was a quiet moment between her and Steve Rogers. He'd asked her to stay behind after practice, but they were hardly the last ones left on the field. While they were far enough away from everyone else, Rogers's clear distress, nervous shifting, and fire engine-red face were considered sufficient evidence for the rumor mill to "confirm" that Steve Rogers had asked his supposed best friend's ex-girlfriend to the homecoming just days after assisting him in an epic homecoming proposal to that same ex-girlfriend. It was widely reported to be one of the biggest scandals to ever transpire at Marvel High. And when Steve showed up to school Friday morning with a fresh black eye and swollen cheek bone, the entire student body accepted his injuries as all the proof they needed.

By this point, Bruce was woefully unexcited about his own plans to ask Natasha to homecoming. They'd chatted at least a little bit on M3 every night that week, but she'd been adamant about not discussing the seemingly unending requests about the upcoming dance. Because of this, Bruce wasn't all that surprised when she inadvertently turned him down before he even got the chance to ask her.

"Please tell me you're not about to ask me to that stupid dance," she said after a long, exasperated groan. "Because I really don't think I can take any more of this."

Bruce quickly shoved the daisy he'd been holding behind his back into his pocket and shook his head. "Nope. Just wanted to see what you were doing. From what I gather, you've had a rough week."

She snorted. "You could say that."

Bruce looked awkwardly around them, unsure of what to say next. He'd managed to catch her alone for the first time in…well, forever, and he only wished it would've been under better circumstances.

Natasha sighed loudly. "Well, I better get going. Clint's probably waiting for me in the parking lot. Practice was rough, and I need a shower, but I'm afraid if I stay here longer than necessary someone else will corner me." She finally opened her eyes, and Bruce was taken aback by how exhausted she looked. "Talk later?" she asked.

"Yeah. Sure."

At this, Natasha cracked a small, lopsided grin and settled a soft hand on his shoulder. "Thanks, Bruce. You're the best. See ya Monday," she added just before she disappeared from view.

"Yeah, see ya Monday," he mumbled after her.

Bruce looked down at his watch. Tony's detention was nearly over.

With a heavy heart, he turned and walked in the opposite direction, the loss of hope hanging on him like a yoke.


	35. Chapter 35

**True Colors**

"So…"

_So…_

That was Carol's not-so-subtle way of broaching a topic Natasha would've preferred to forget.

"So…" Natasha echoed.  
"Been an awfully interesting week, dontcha think?"

"You could say that…"

"So…?" Carol prompted.

Natasha sighed. Time to rip off the bandage.

"Do we have to talk about it?"

Carol shrugged. "We don't _have_ to. I just thought it might help," she explained. "You've been out of sorts since I picked you up this morning."

"Yeah," Maria joined in. "While I wouldn't describe you as 'chatty' _per se_, you're definitely rocking a whole 'moody/laconic vibe' today. Don't get me wrong, it's super mysterious and sexy, and I'm all for you doing you, but it's really not the vibe we're going for here, hun."

Carol stared pointedly at her best friend.

"And what kind of vibe is that?" Natasha asked, a small grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Oh, you know," Maria floundered. "Fun? It's dress shopping. For homecoming. With the three greatest girls you'll ever meet. What's not to like?"

Carol rolled her eyes. "Ignore her," she told Natasha. "Heaven knows I do."

"You wound me, Danvers," Maria teased, grasping at her chest as though her heart were bursting.

From the other side of the dress rack, Valkyrie rolled her eyes and chuckled. "You're an idiot."

"That," Maria snored, pointing a finger at her, "is rude, ma'am."

Valkyrie merely rolled her eyes again and stuck her tongue out. Maria mirrored her actions with exaggerated emphasis. They both dissolved into hysterical giggles.

Ignoring their friends, Carol turned back to Natasha and grabbed her hand. "Here, come help me with shoes."

"Wait! Where…are…y'all…going?" Maria called breathlessly after them, but it was too late; Carol had already dragged Natasha around the corner and out of sight.

"So…" Carol prompted again once they were alone.

Natasha selected a shoe from the rack and pretended to consider it as she gathered her thoughts.

"Romanoff? Natasha?" The genuine concern in Carol's voice was oddly endearing.

"I don't know what you want me to say," Natasha relented with a sigh. "I used to be this small town nobody. Then I come here and it's like my life has turned into some poorly written teen drama show, and last week was apparently Sweeps Week."

"I guess that's one way of looking at it," Carol offered.

"What do you mean?"

Carol shrugged. "If you're going to compare the last few weeks of your life to a tv show, then I gotta say that you're doing pretty well for yourself."

Natasha made a face.

"I'm serious," Carol insisted. "If your life is a tv show, even a crappy teen drama, then you're the pretty popular girl that everyone wants to be. Or be with, if this past week was any indication. I know popularity isn't everything, but I don't think you realize how lucky you are."

"Lucky?"

"Yeah. Lucky."

Natasha snorted and picked up another shoe.

"I'm serious."

"Okay. Explain it to me, then. How am I _lucky_?"

When Carol didn't respond, Natasha looked around and found her sitting on a nearby bench, clutching an unopened box of shoes in her lap.

Carol took a deep breath. "It's like this, you have not one but several guys interested in you, all vying with each other just to take you to some lame dance—"

"That I'm not sure I even want to go to," Natasha interrupted.

"But that doesn't matter, don't you see?"

"See what?"

"How easy it is for you."

Natasha threw her hands up in exasperation, fed up with the cyclical conversation. "What are you talking about?"

"Attraction," Carol said quietly, her voice low and grave. "Attraction and action."

Something inside Natasha stopped her from making a snide remark, for which she would be eternally grateful.

"You're beautiful, Natasha. You're beautiful and funny and smart and talented, so it's not surprising that you have all these admirers. You're also exceedingly kind based on everything I've seen so far. I was so impressed by you this week—how you handled everything, how courteous you were with your rejections, but you're a rarity. I'm not going to claim that you don't know what it's like to be rejected because I'm still just getting to know you, but I'm willing to guess that it doesn't play a significant role in your life. If it does, I'm sorry, but I'm also willing to bet that very few people would ever seriously consider turning you down."

Natasha lowered herself onto the bench next to Carol. "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I follow. Everything you just said about me, all the same stuff could be said about you."

Carol took a deep breath. "I'm gay."

They both sat there for several moments, allowing the gravity of Carol's words wash over them.

"And before you get the wrong idea," Carol said, breaking the silence, "I'm not into you. So, you don't have to worry about that. I'm perfectly capable of valuing your seemingly endless admirable qualities without wanting you."  
"You like Valkyrie."

Carol's head snapped up. "What-? How-?"

"I'm observant."

"I'll say," Carol scoffed.

"But I still don't get it. What you were talking about, I mean."

"It's just that, as far as I know, there aren't too many kids at school who are…who are…like me, you know? Not that I know of, anyway. It's not really something people talk about here. So, it's…"

"Scary to admit you like her?" Natasha prompted. "To put yourself out there like that?"

"Well, 'scary' isn't the word I'd use. It's definitely difficult, though."

"Because you're not sure how she feels?"

Carol snorted. "You really do have a way with words, Romanoff."

Then it hit Natasha. Everything Carol had been saying finally fell into place.

"Because of the social default at school," Natasha guessed. "Not to mention the rest of the world," she added. "But because of heteronormativity—am I using that word right?" Carol nodded quietly, prompting Natasha to continue. "Because of that, if I wanted to act on an attraction, sure, I might—at most—get rejected, but at least I have the privilege of assuming the guy is straight. No, not assuming. Knowing. Because it's more socially acceptable for 'him' and me to open about this stuff, especially in high school."

"Bingo," Carol deadpanned. "I know it's gotten a bit easier to be gay the last few years, but there's still a long way to go. A long, long, long way," she added drily. "And I'm sorry; I shouldn't have blown up on you like that. It's not like it's your fault."

"No, no, no. I understand. Honestly, that's why I didn't want to talk about everything that happened this week, 'cause I knew what it would sound like: 'Oh no! All these boys like me! Whatever will I do?'"

Carol laughed—a loud bark that made Natasha grin.

"I'm not quite sure I got that. Can you repeat it? What would it sound like?"  
Natasha nudged Carol with her shoulder. "Oh, shut up."

Both girls' laughter trailed off as they settled into a comfortable silence that was broken by the unexpected appearance of Maria and Valkyrie.

"Are y'all done yet? We wanna go try these things on. I'm hungry, and I want a damn pretzel, so hurry up."

"We'll meet you at the dressing rooms in a minute," Natasha informed her. "We're just finishing up."

"Mm. Okay. Don't know how either of you expect to pick out shoes when you haven't picked out your dresses yet, but I guess that's just my opinion…" Maria trailed off as she turned in the direction of the dressing rooms, dragging Valkyrie along with her.

As they left, Natasha was quick to catch the way Valkyrie's eyes lingered on Carol's bent head, clearly concerned with a hint of something else.

"You know," Natasha began once they were out of earshot, "if you were to ask Valkyrie to the dance, I don't think she'd reject you."

"What makes you say that?"

Natasha shrugged. "Call it a hunch."  
"Call it whatever you like, but I'm not going to scare her off based on a hunch, no offense."

"None taken. Although…" Natasha paused, an idea rapidly forming that would solve both of their dilemmas. "We could all go together. In a group. You, me, Maria, and Valkyrie. Neither of them said anything about having dates."

"Plus," Carol grinned, "it would provide you with an excuse to give your many _suitors_." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"And," Natasha continued, ignoring her, "it would give you more time to hang out with Valkyrie. You know, maybe get a feel for where she stands. Or I could talk to her for you…?"

"No, please don't." Carol's eyes widened in genuine panic. "Aside from Maria, you're the only other person I've told," she said quietly.

Natasha was struck once more by the gravity of what had just occurred.

"Thank you."

"For what?" Carol asked, confused.

"For trusting me with this."

Carol shrugged, but Natasha easily detected the effort behind her false bravado.

"It's nothing."

Natasha shook her head. "It's not nothing. That's a big thing to trust someone with, especially when you have the concerns you do, as understandable as they are. Also, I'm going to hug you now, if that's okay."

When Carol didn't object, Natasha tentatively leaned forward and wrapped her in a hug. Carol returned the gesture.

"Thanks," she mumbled into Natasha's hair.

"Why are you thanking me?"

"Just…for being you."

They released each other, and Natasha leaned back to get a good look at Carol.

"For being me?"

"I had a lot on my mind, and you were the perfect person to talk to."

Natasha smiled. "Well, I'm always here if you need to talk. Or hang out. I've never really had friends who were girls before, so I should probably thank you for that, too."

"And we should probably head over to the dressing rooms before Maria marches back over here and drags us there, herself," Carol joked gravely.

Natasha looked around them. "We still haven't picked out shoes, though."

"Well, it's like Maria said, how can 'either of us expect to pick out shoes when we haven't picked out our dresses yet?'"

"Fair enough. Let's go."

"Besides," Carol mused as they walked through the store, "I'm not sure a dress is really my style."

"What were you thinking?"

"Don't know. Think I could rock a suit?"

Natasha made a show of sweeping her eyes up and down Carol's body. "Hm. Totally."

"People might talk, though."

"Let 'em."

"Or do more than talk…"

Natasha slung an arm around Carol's shoulders, declaring, "If they do, they'll have to go through me, Maria, probably Valkyrie, and—I'm willing to bet—the entire football team. Those guys like you, too, you know."

"They do, don't they."

"And if someone somehow managed to get through all of us, they'd still have you to deal with, Danvers, and you—ma'am—are one helluva force to be reckoned with."

Carol grinned. "Damn straight."

* * *

***A/N:**

1) I am so sorry this took so long. I've been reading a lot lately, and I started a second story (glee, if anyone's interested). I'll try no to let too much time go by for the next chapter.  
2) Excuses aside, this was actually a difficult chapter to write, and I wanted to do it justice. I'm still not sure I got it right, so please let me know what you think.


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